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But you don’t wanna talk about your story, and I don’t blame you. Back to food. My mom, bless her, can’t cook Mexican to save her life. All good old-fashioned Midwestern food. And, it’s a total cliché, but I love her casseroles. She does this one with chicken and pasta and lots of cheese... Man, it’s so good. Even her tuna casserole is amazing, especially when she puts crushed potato chips on it. And I can pretty much hear you cringing from here, but don’t knock it unless you try it. Not everything needs a wine list to be tasty! But what do you like to cook? I’d ask if you have a favorite wine, but I have feeling you’ve probably got a whole rack of favorites, and I don’t wanna look dumb. Tell me about a favorite meal of yours, though, and what you like to drink with it. Impress me.
It had a taken a few days before he’d gotten to read the reply, what with training and meetings, and limited internet time, but it had warmed him all the way through, and it was what he recalled now while shifting his weight from side to side, waiting for the go signal. He was back on Team Alpha, and never had hurry-up-and-wait felt so damn good. Or important. But still, it was hours of waiting, hours to think about Spencer and his replies.
Okay, beer guy. I could make you some nice fajitas, but you want to be impressed... So let me think, I always get new wine drinkers this amazing French Sauv Blanc, and it goes really good with a cream sauce, which since you like casseroles, you’d probably manage to choke down, right? There’s a gourmet grocery near my condo, and I get fresh pasta there. They do an amazing ravioli with a salmon mousse inside. I like to serve it with some vegetable sides, but since apparently the quantity of the protein matters to you, a seared salmon or tuna fillet with an herb butter would make a nice accompaniment too. For dessert, I like fruit more than chocolate. Last year, I finally mastered a raspberry tart I was willing to serve to company. It has a shortbread crust. It’s amazing what a motivator writer’s block on a deadline is for learning to cook new dishes! I’d ask when I could expect you for dinner, but I have a feeling you’re still not Stateside. Don’t worry, I know you can’t tell me exactly. But for what it’s worth I’ve got a few nice Sauv Blancs in the wine rack (you were right on with your guess that I’ve got a...collection of sorts) that I’d love to share with you. Drop me a line when you’re headed my way.
That was as close as Spencer came to outright telling Bacon he wanted to see him again, and it made Bacon smile, made his finger fumble as he’d typed out a fast reply before they got this callout.
I guess I’d try your cooking. JK. Only fish we had growing up was catfish, but salmon isn’t terrible. The tart sounds amazing. I’m not much for chocolate either. My favorite dessert, because I’m usually lazy like this, is cherry-vanilla ice cream left to get half-melted. So seriously, your cooking sounds like something from a magazine. Wish I was Stateside. Can’t tell you where or when, but soon, I hope. I’ll be in touch, promise.
And now here he was, dreaming about ravioli of all things, and a wine he’d never tasted but craved all the same, just like he craved Spencer’s touch. These last few weeks of emails had let them get to know each other better, but it was frustrating because each communication only made him miss the man more.
“Bacon. Get ready.” His headset crackled to life, the XO’s voice calm and steady.
“In position. Ready.” He got a lock on the target. He’d had a bead on the mark for a while now, but everything needed to be in place. No more surprises. Just a plan carried out to fruition, the leader of the terrorist cell that had attacked their team and wounded Curly and Donaldson brought down and their compound searched for evidence of biological weapons. The team ready to search had respirators on just in case.
For his part, Bacon modulated his own breathing, focused on waiting for the signal, honing everything in on the shots he was about to take.
“Bacon. Go.”
His aim was never surer, and from his vantage point, he was able to watch the rest of the team move in, hear the mission unfold.
Hours later, when the senior chief said, “We did good today, men. I think we’re ready to head home,” he smiled. Yeah, he was beyond ready to head home, and for the first time in a long time, he had something worth looking forward to waiting for him on the other side. Maybe. At least, he certainly hoped so.
