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At the lift of his arm, she broke out of her reverie as a couple on a paddle boat floated past and waved. He turned to her, a serene smile on his handsome face. “That’s June and Joe Melon. They own the bakery at the east end of town. Best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever have.”
He sat alongside her in the little wooden love seat. The oak matched the trim on the house, and the bright orange cushions matched the azaleas planted in his landscape. His arm draped around her shoulders, and he pulled her closer to him. She laid her head on his upper chest and closed her eyes as she listened to the strong beat of his heart. His breathing was even and calming. His legs stretched out, and his bare feet were crossed at the ankles. What was it about a sexy man’s feet?
“Two more minutes and our steaks will be ready.” He kissed the top of her head and removed his arm. He stood and walked to the grill, picking up his tongs, and she followed him and enjoyed the view of the backyard and the enticing aroma of their dinner.
Her stomach rumbled, and he chuckled. “I know how you feel—it’s been a long time between meals.”
As he pulled their steaks from the grill and added the baked potatoes to the plate, she opened the French door to the kitchen and held it open for him as he carried their meal in.
She pulled the mushrooms from the stove, grabbed the bottle of wine, and sat at the round oak table next to David.
“God, this smells fantastic.” Her stomach rumbled again, and she smiled.
“That, it does. So, after we finish gorging ourselves, what would you like to do? I’m hoping I can talk you into staying the night here.”
Setting her fork down, she stared at the little floral centerpiece in the middle of the table.
Softly, she responded. “I don’t think I can do that, David.”
“You certainly don’t have to ask for permission from your mother.” His voice took on an edge.
“No.” She nervously giggled. “I have trouble.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she tried again. “I still have nightmares sometimes.”
His fingers softly turned her face toward him. “Kiera … I’m sorry you have nightmares. But … I don’t care about that.” He leaned his elbow on the table and looked into her eyes. His voice was so soft, “What I mean is, I want to hold you. If you happen to have a nightmare, I’ll be there.”
Swallowing the dry knot in her throat, she blinked ferociously to stem the tears that threatened. Her nose began to water, and she sniffed but didn’t pull away from him. “I’d love that. But maybe you could stay at my place? In a familiar place, the bad dreams don’t come as often.”
He slowly leaned in and pecked her lips with his. “Okay. Your place, it is. After a night or two, maybe you can stay here, and we’ll see how it goes. Yeah?”
Smiling at him, because dang, he was so logical, she replied, “Yeah.”
She watched for just a moment as his knife melted into his steak and he lifted a juicy morsel to his mouth. “Mmm, this is fantastic.”
Eagerly slicing into her own steak and tasting the first bite, her eyes closed and she hummed her appreciation. “You’re an excellent chef, David. Where did you learn to grill like this?”
He chuckled. “I learned in the Army. If you’ve ever eaten on a base anywhere, you’ll understand why I learned to cook for myself.”
She laughed. “Okay. I haven’t, but I can only imagine.”
“Right after basic, I was stationed at Fort Stewart. I lived off base, and I had two roommates, Darby and Weston. Neither of them could cook for shit, and we usually ordered pizza, went to fast food places, or made hot dogs. That got old real fast, and I got hungry. I called my dad and got some pointers and thus began my cooking adventures. And it got me out of laundry and cleaning too.”
“How did it do that?” She giggled.
“My deal with Darby and Weston was I’d cook, but they did the other house shit. So, since I got out of doing the other menial things, I threw myself into cooking. Bought some cookbooks, asked some women in the grocery store how to make some things, and then I practiced. In the beginning, I almost lost my no laundry housework privilege because my food sucked ass. But, on threat of having to clean, I improved.”
Laughing she responded, “Well, you must have gotten over your aversion to cleaning. Everything here is spotless.”
“That’s because I have Julie.”
Her brows rose into her hairline. Well, now this was something new. The look on her face must have amused him because he laughed, and all she could do was admire the man before her. He looked happy. “She’s my cleaning lady. And as you can see, she’s fantastic.”
* * *
Cleaning up the dishes, his mind wandered to the past as it often had this past couple of weeks. No one could be so cruel as to bring them back together after all this time only to rip them apart again, could they? That would be a cold, despicable world to live in. Her body though broken in so many places had been repaired; however, he couldn’t help but notice the little tell telltale signs of abuse. Faint scars, her limp, though he knew she tried hiding it, her little pinky finger that jutted out at the wrong angle. He noticed after she sat for a fair amount of time her back stiffened, and she’d stand and wait for a few seconds to allow her body time to adjust before she walked. He’d seen her more than once rub her left forearm as though to soothe it. It made his skin crawl to think of hurting another human like that. But her? Kiera? That made his heart break and the anger roil inside of him. For the hundredth time in the past few weeks, he’d thought he’d be capable of murder if Nicholas Campisi were still alive.
Kiera finished loading the dishwasher, added the detergent, closed the door, and then stood perfectly still, hands folded in front of her, head down. He froze as he watched her stand there, not moving. His heartbeat increased and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
“Kiera, is everything all right?”
