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He swallowed again, a delicious burn across his tongue and down his throat. “Thank you, Gerty.” Mike looked down at his button-up shirt. “I had to wash this today so it would be presentable. I didn’t bring a lot of dating clothes.”
She folded her arms on the table and leaned into them. “Didn’t think you’d meet anyone here this summer?”
“No,” he said honestly. “I didn’t. But if I’d have known you’d be here, I’d have packed differently.”
“Mm.” Her eyes danced with a bright blue flame. “I think you have enough money to do a little shopping if you find your wardrobe lacking.” Her right eyebrow went up while the left stayed down, and Mike laughed.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said.
She grabbed another chip, and this one she dipped in the mild salsa, but didn’t scoop any of it onto the chip. She actually shook it a little before putting it in her mouth, as if trying to get rid of as much of the salsa as possible. He couldn’t stop grinning, and he didn’t even know why.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked, and that brought surprise to her expression.
She chewed quicker and reached for her water glass. “Getting a spicy bite of salsa.”
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” He wondered if she needed permission not to eat it. It sort of seemed like it.
“Iwantto like it,” she said. “But I don’t think I do.” She smiled and shook her head, and she said nothing more about what she might be afraid of. When they’d dated as teens, they used to ask each other questions like this all the time.
“I’m afraid I’m going to let someone down,” he said as he sat back in the booth. His right arm ached, but not because he’d moved it, but because he hadn’t in so long. It felt so stiff, and he just wanted to stretch it and rotate it and have it move the way it was supposed to.
“Mike,” she said. “You never let anyone down.”
He looked away from her then, the images in his mind not any he wanted to tell anyone about. “Everyone has expectations for me,” he said.
“Like what?”
“My momma wants me to check in with her every half-hour,” he said. “My daddy expects me to be the CEO at HMC. The military says I have to go to therapy for a certain number of sessions.” He shrugged one shoulder, actually surprised that he’d brought up his counseling requirements.
Gerty didn’t even blink strangely. “What expectations do you have for yourself?”
He hadn’t been expecting that question, and he gave himself a moment to think about it. “In flight school, we were told over and over that everyone was relying on us. As a pilot, it was your job to keep your head in crazy situations. Keep your aircraft in the air. Keep the men on the ground safe. Keep your crew together.”
She sat very still, listening.
Mike swallowed. “I didn’t exactly do that. I didn’t meet the expectations.”
She shook her head then. “That’s not true.”
The scent of flesh, flames, and fuel filled his nose, though they weren’t there in the Mexican restaurant. The phantoms of his accident followed him everywhere, even to Ivory Peaks, where he’d been hoping the beauty and good feelings he’d always had here would keep the demons at bay.
“I didn’t keep my bird in the air,” he said quietly. It didn’t matter that his co-pilot had been shot and wounded. His men had all been on-board, all shouting, all clamoring for his attention.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked. “It’s not like we get reports on things like that from the US military.”
He shook his head. “Another time.” He painted a bright smile over the melancholy mood he’d brought. “Wow, sorry. I was just wondering if there’s anything you’re afraid of.”
“Lots of things,” she said casually. Far too casually for it to actually be casual. She brushed something off the table on her side and kept her eyes down.
“Not going to share?”
She looked up and right into his eyes. He found her stunning in absolutely every way, and he wondered what her expectations for him were. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to be myself and manage to get married.”
Mike didn’t miss a beat as he said, “Oh, I think you’re wrong about that, baby doll. I’m having a hard time staying on this side of the table, and you’re being your beautiful, blunt self just fine.”
A blush colored her face, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. He slid to the end of the booth and stood, feeling very much like a penguin with his arm glued to his body. She looked up in surprise as he came to her side of the booth.
“Well,” he said. “Scoot over and make room for me. This is even my good side, and that means I can hold your hand while I tell you how wrong you are.”
