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Was this a weird conversation for a first date? He seemed genuinely interested, so I sipped my wine and cleared my throat.
“I—didn’t think I could do it. The constant worry and being apart for so long.”
He nodded. “What changed?”
I sighed. “I grew up. Dated a few jerks in college. But the week I turned twenty-one, Levi was home on leave. A bunch of us went out, and we picked up like three years hadn’t passed.” I swallowed hard and sent him a shy smile. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear all this.”
He looked away briefly, almost like he felt guilty, but then he turned back and affected an awkward, forced smile. “No. It’s okay.”
He said that, but his rigid posture betrayed him. He was clearly uncomfortable.
I nodded and rushed the rest of the story out. “Our life was a whirlwind after that. Within two years, we were married and I was pregnant with Callie. But as you’ve probably seen, that’s how things tend to go for soldiers and their families.”
He gave me a slight nod. “Yeah, that’s how it was for several of my buddies.”
I cocked my head to the side and surveyed him, working up the nerve to ask my next question. “But not for you?”
He shook his head and smirked. “My outlook was different. Uncommon, I guess. If I wasn’t 100 percent sure before I left, I ended things. I hated the idea of leaving a woman at home waiting for something that I wasn’t sure I could give her. I had a couple of serious relationships, but I never experienced the kind of connection that I knew would last over the months apart.”
That made sense. Many people who didn’t feel that serious connection made the commitment anyway, and often, it ended in heartbreak. Military life could be hard on relationships.
Commotion nearby drew our attention. A woman with wide eyes gasped for air, clutching at her throat. Across fromher, a second woman stood abruptly, her chair crashing to the floor behind her, and yelled for help.
“I think she’s choking. Does anyone know the Heimlich?”
The wheezing woman shook her head frantically, her face turning redder.
I was still gaping as Kyle stood and pushed his way through the small crowd gathered and knelt in front of her.
“Do you have an EpiPen?”
She nodded, her jaw moving awkwardly, almost like she was going to lick her lips.
“Where? Point.”
She pointed under the table, her breathing becoming more labored.
I didn’t want to be yet another onlooker who had gathered around the table, so I hung back, taking in the scene.
Kyle moved the tablecloth out of the way and pulled a purse out from under it. He rifled through it, and a moment later, he retrieved the EpiPen. The woman sucked in another ragged breath through swollen, purple lips as Kyle pressed and held the device firmly against her thigh.
Within seconds, she was sucking in sharp breaths, her chest heaving.
“Slow breaths,” Kyle coaxed, grasping her hand. He turned to the crowd. “Did anyone call for an ambulance?”
“I did.” A gentleman wearing a polo with the restaurant’s logo on the pocket spoke up.
Kyle nodded and shifted back to the woman. “You’ll have to go with the EMTs when they arrive. The ER will want to keep an eye on you.”
She nodded, taking another long, slow breath in.
Once the chaos had died down and the EMTs had left with their patient, the restaurant picked back up and carried on with the dinner rush.
Bringing my wine to my lips, I assessed the man sittingacross from me. He took a bite of his steak and raised one eyebrow.
“What?”
“How did you know?”
