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As I leave her house and head toward the diner, I can’t help replaying in my head all the times I’ve come home from deployments. I’d see family members gathered at the airport or on base to welcome my battalion home.
I’d envy it.
But right now, thinking about Millie and what she’s gone through—what she’s going throughright nowwith her brother deployed—I’m wondering if she’s right.
Maybe she’s smart to not want to date a guy like me.
Rotation will be shifting this fall, and considering the headlines these days, they’ll probably be plucking my battalion out of here and sending us to the other side of the world again.
Do I really want to put her through that, all for the hope of an embrace from her when I get home? It seems unfair and selfish as hell, considering she made it clear that’s not what she wanted from me.
I usually like my job. Right now, it’s sucking.
The doors to the diner jingle as I enter, and I stand still for a moment, just taking in the sight of her. It takes me right back to that first moment I saw her, multitasking in a way that honestly, I can’t, and all with a smile for everyone who crosses her path.
Damn right I wanted to take you out on a date, Millie.
I still do. Rules be damned.
Her eyes meet mine as I walk up to the counter.
“Ma’am, I’d like two slices of pie and hopefully someone to share them with,” I say, my tone laced with flirtation.
“I’m game, cutie,” an older lady pipes in at the counter—Mrs. Marge, I think I’ve heard Millie call her.
“Marge, I think this young man is asking our Millie out on a date,” Harriet retorts. Then a mischievous smirk takes over her gently weathered face. “But of course, she—”
“—doesn’t date military guys,” at least four people at the counter finish for her.
I chuckle right along with them. Every time I come in here, I can see why Millie likes this place, this island. For a Soldier who’s moved around a lot, it’s nice to see there are still places in this world where people greet you by name on the street and remember your story as though it has some intrinsic value.
Glancing in Millie’s direction, I see her blush spectacularly.
I pass my credit card to Harriet, and she cuts me some pie.
“I think,” Millie replies, flashing her eyes in the direction of Harriet as she comes closer to me, “that myhousemateis just trying to talk to me without you busybodies poking your noses in. Mind if I take five?” she asks, pulling off her apron and setting it behind the counter.
“Take fifteen,” Harriet says, handing off two pie slices in to-go boxes for me.
As we walk out the door, I hear Mrs. Marge comment loudly, “He looks like he could last a lot longer than fifteen.”
I burst out laughing as the door shuts behind us. “Your workplace is hysterical.”
She grins. “Everyone’s a character in there.”
“Apparently.” I take her hand when we turn the corner—an experiment, really, just to see if she’ll let me.
She lets me.
“How about we get some of that frilly-ass coffee I promised you to go with the pie, and grab one of those benches over there?” I ask, nodding toward an empty bench at the outer edge of the beach.
“Sounds good.”
“You know, I totally wanted to kiss you in there,” I tell her.
“Well, that would have given Mrs. Marge a heart attack.”
“Correction: What we didthis morningwould have given her a heart attack. So you didn’t tell anyone about us?”
