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“Thanks, Harris.”
After ending the call, I decide to do a little unpacking before 3:30 rolls around.I just got home from the airport about an hour ago after being away for a couple days.
I travel so much in my current job at Fort Meade that I barely have time to settle in enough here to even hang a picture on the wall.
Mason used to live in this apartment back when we were both stationed at the Naval Academy.When he and Freya told me it was available during the time I’d be at Fort Meade, it seemed like a good fit, just a half hour from base.Even though this side of the Severn River is pretty sleepy, the view from the backyard is spectacular—with the impressive domes and historic buildings of the Naval Academy reflecting in the water.
I had hoped I’d get plenty of time to just sit and watch the sunsets here, preferably with my then-girlfriend.
But she didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.And with the mileage I’m racking up in this job, it’s a little harder than usual to find a suitable replacement.
I should be in town for a while now, though.Might be a good time to hit the social scene a bit more or call one of the numbers that I tend to collect in my cell phone.Women are pretty easy for me to meet.On planes.In grocery stores.Hell, I had a woman ding my car in a parking lot once and ask me to dinner in her next breath.
That was a firm no.I tend to be a little overly protective of my Camaro.
The initial meeting is easy, but scheduling enough time for follow-up is the big challenge.
The holidays will probably slow things down at work a bit now; no one will demand I fly anywhere to brief some four-star unless it’s mission-critical right now.It might be a good chance to remind myself what it feels like to spend time with a woman somewhere other than randomly crammed into the small seats of coach on a plane.
Mason and Freya invited me to their new townhome in DC for Christmas dinner, and seeing as it is the easiest way I can avoid eating leftover pizza that day, I took them up on the invitation.Besides, Mason’s brothers are coming in, and they’re a good group of guys.
I’ve also been told that they’re deep frying a turkey.The words “deep fried” are an easy sell for me.
I toss the plastic container from the microwaved meal I ate when I got home into the recycle bin and load my fork into my underused dishwasher.Yep, I’ve found myself falling into the stereotype of a typical Navy bachelor.
I’m really over it.
I glance at my watch and grab my jacket to make this snowman, hoping to God that I don’t run into any neighbors.In the time that I’ve been here, I’ve barely spoken to any of them.Which means that no one around here knows me well enough to conclude that I’ve gone anything but completely insane if they see me making a snowman out here all by myself.
I stand, gazing at the soft, pure snow.There’s not a footprint in it, and it’s been out here a while.But it’s not like there are kids living in this house.I rent my apartment from a newly widowed woman who seems to travel as much as I do.
I ponder my situation for a moment, watching my breath curl outside my mouth as I sigh.Then, resigned to my fate, I stoop over, making a ball.
It falls apart immediately.
I tug off my gloves and let the warmth from my hands help pack it together.Then I start to roll it on the ground.The ball grows for a while, and I’m feeling pretty proud until I’m distracted by a car pulling into the driveway next to me.
Damn.A witness.
And just then, I put too much weight on my growing snowball as I roll it, and it collapses.I’m about to let out a salty curse, but a kid—maybe about six or seven years old from the look of him—leaps out of the car in my neighbor’s driveway and darts toward me, holding a backpack and a guitar case nearly as big as he is.
“Are you making a snowman?”he asks me.
His mother steps out of her practical hybrid and gives me a curious look.I’ve seen her come and go next door before, always giving her a polite wave if I happen to be out for a run or taking my trash out.
She’s pretty for the mom-type.Long brunette hair that is pulled back in a ponytail, and eyes that seem to suck me in even at this distance.Just pretty enough to remind me that it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex.
She’s also just pretty enough that I feel even more ridiculous out here doing this.
“Uh, yeah—” I start to answer him, anxious to quickly follow up with more of an explanation.Because let’s face it—the situation kind of demands it.
But the kid’s voice cuts me off, eyes lighting with interest.“Can I help?”he blurts.
Help?The inner voice in me scoffs with ample sarcasm.What makes this kid think I need help?
“Sure, I could use some help.If your mom doesn’t mind, that is.I’m a little out of practice when it comes to my snowman skills.”
A smile touches the mom’s lips.“I—well, sure.I guess that would be fine.”
Thank God.Because from the enthusiasm on this kid’s face, I have a feeling I’ll have this done in no time.
