“He likes me,” I say, grinning.
He puts my finger in his mouth.
“Or at least he likes to bite you,” Monica says, with a laugh. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s teething.”
“You’re excused, little man,” I tell him. “But only because you’re so cute.”
“Hey! I’m cute too!” says Becky.
“Yes you are, and that’s why I helped you find your aunt.”
She grins at me. And then there’s a knock on the door.
“Oh crap,” says Monica, looking around at the plates on the table, which haven’t made their way back to the china cupboard.
“I’ll get them,” I tell her. “You go ahead and answer the door.”
She carries Mason over to the living room, bouncing him slightly as she walks, and he coos a little bit. I don’t have much experience around babies, but I have to admit it’s pretty heartwarming. Then again, so is everything that Monica does.
I hurry up to put all the dishes back, just in the nick of time.
“Ramsey, this is my sister-in-law, Susan,” Monica says.
“And Susan, this is Ramsey.”
“Nice to meet you, Ramsey,” Susan says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Monica flashes her a glare.
But Becky interrupts us, saying, “He’s really good at hide and seek. He helped me find Aunt Monica!”
“Did he?” asks Susan.
She has a grocery bag in her arms, so I take it from her and ask, “Is there anything else I can help with?”
“I have a few more bags in the car,” she says. “I mean, I might as well take advantage of having a man in the house. It’s so rare these days.”
“No problem,” I say, walking to the front door, as I hear Monica hiss, “Stop it, Susan!”
When I get back in with the groceries, Susan’s holding the baby. Monica must have successfully silenced her, because she just smiles and says, “Make yourself at home, Ramsey.”
“He will,” Monica says. “This is my home… too… remember?”
The way she adds the “too” makes it clear that Susan is living with her and not the other way around.
“I’m just trying to be friendly!” Susan protests.
“Come on, Ramsey, let’s go upstairs,” says Monica.
“Do you want to play Princess Tea Party?” asks Becky, running after us.
“Maybe another time,” I tell her.
“Go help Mommy put the groceries away,” Monica says.
“All right.” She runs off, in a pout.
Upstairs, it’s finally just Monica and me.
“I am so sorry about that,” Monica says. “If I had known you were coming, I would have arranged a different sort of welcome…”
“It’s no problem,” I tell her. “It wasn’t exactly a planned visit. And I think it’s great that you and Susan live together. I’m sure she really appreciates your help with the kids.”
Monica smiles. “Well, they’re great.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and then she says, “So, about your surprise visit… what exactly are you doing here?”
“That’s right!” I answer. “I almost forgot. Stay right here. I’ll be back in one second.”
I sprint down the stairs and head outside, to my rental car, where my stuff is. I haven’t brought it in because I had no idea if Monica would want me to stay for a while here at her house or not. In fact, I guess I still have no idea.
But in the chaos of a house full of kids, family, life, laughter… things I’m not exactly used to… I’d almost forgotten what I came here to do. I need to let Monica know how I feel about her— before it’s too late.
Chapter 21 – Monica
I sit down on my bed, my head and heart both spinning as if a tornado whirled through the house, rather than the man I was only supposed to spend one night with. I’m excited that he’s here, but I also have to remind myself that he’s leaving soon.
Ramsey runs back up the stairs, and he has his guitar case in hand.
“I really liked the soundtrack you made me of our weekend together,” he says. “I’ve been listening to it a lot and it reminded me of some things I wanted to do for you that I didn’t get time to do. So I decided to take my chances and fly down here to see you one last time, and cross those things off the list.”
“Okay,” I tell him, not really knowing what to say.
My heart is beating out of my chest so loudly that I hope he can’t hear it.
“The first one is this. You had wanted me to play the guitar for you, but I was too scared of fucking up. As I said, I’m pretty new still, and not very good. But I can at least try.”
He takes his guitar out of its case and sits down at the chair in front of my computer desk, after turning it around to face me.
“You ready?”
I smile. “Sure.”
He begins to play the Heroes song, but he’s changed the lyrics to fit our own version. “Just For One Weekend.” In fact, he’s changed a lot of the lyrics, so that the song is about the two of us.
I, I will be at war.
And you, you will be in Florida.
Our few days together, they’ll have to end.
We can beat fate, just for one weekend.
We’ll be each other's heroes, just for one weekend…
I, I wish I could stay.
For more, more than this day.
Maybe love could keep up together.
We can beat fate just for one weekend.
We’ll be each other’s heroes, just for one weekend…
As he sings, I try my best not to cry like some overly romantic, cheesy girl. But it’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. And he’s wrong— he’s very good at playing the guitar, and singing. If he weren’t a damn fine, devoted SEAL, he could easily have been in a band.
“That was beautiful,” I tell him, when he’s finished. “And I have no idea why it took you so long to do.”
I stand up and cross the room, to sit in his lap. He kisses me, and I want to dissolve into him, melt into his lap and stay there all night long.
But then he pulls away and says, “There’s something else I owe you.”
“And what is that?” I ask, curious.
“A proper date. I never got to take you on one.”
I smile. I liked the idea of staying here and making up for lost time, but I guess it couldn’t hurt to eat dinner first.
“So, I’m assuming we’re extending our pact a little longer?” I ask him.
I hope it’s a way to show I’m happy about it, but also not to seem too desperate.
He looks a little bit exasperated, and I feel stupid for having asked it.
“I should have come a lot sooner,” he says, somewhat mysteriously. “But I finally figured, better late than never. All we have is now, right?”
“Right.”
“So let’s go.” He stands up and places his guitar in its case. “But I need to freshen up real quick first. It was a long flight. Can I use your shower?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved that I’ll have time to change into something sexier than the jeans and t-shirt I’m wearing.
An hour later, we’re walking along the beach, and Ramsey casually reaches out to take my hand. Strolling while holding hands maybe be commonplace, but I haven’t done it for a long time. Not since Pete. And not since the very beginning with Pete.
Things were going downhill with Pete and me before I really realized it, and now I know I wasted precious time waiting for things to get better, when there was no real chance. I should have cut my losses and moved on.
But this thing with Ramsey is… confusing. It feels simple and right for us to have another night together, to act like lovers or even a couple.
But we’re not. And I have to remember that. There’s a reason I haven’t opened my heart to anyone after Pete, and Ramsey is certainly not the guy to change that. He’s made hi
s expectations— or lack thereof— very clear, and so have I. I just need to keep that in mind, instead of allowing myself to fantasize about something more.
Even though he did fly all the way out here to play the guitar for me. Maybe his intentions have changed?
“This beach is so gorgeous,” Ramsey says, kicking sand up like a little kid. “I can’t believe it.”
I laugh at him, but then realize it is very different from New Mexico.
“I mean it.” He laughs. “I’m used to sand, but it’s like… desert sand. I go from the Southwest to the Middle East and then back again. I’m not used to having water with my sand.”
“Well then, I’m glad you decided to fly out and see the ocean,” I say.
“Very funny,” he says, looking at me quite seriously. “The ocean is just a bonus. You know it’s you who I came to see.”
I stare at him, breathless, wordless— until he lifts me up and kisses me. The wind blows my hair into our faces, and he does his best to hold back the unruly mane while he kisses me some more.
“If we didn’t have a nice date planned, I’d pick you up and throw you into the ocean,” he says.
“Well good thing we do have a nice date planned,” I laugh. “Because that’d be pretty cold, and I wouldn’t be very happy.”
But I know I wouldn’t care, as long as he picked me back up and carried me home. As if reading my mind, he says, “Maybe I’ll just have to give you a piggy back ride instead.”
I laugh and jump up, my skirt flowing in the wind as I wrap my legs around his strong back.
“You’re going to have to tell Becky that you got a ride from your prince,” Ramsey says, making me laugh again. “Where to, my Princess?”
“There’s a pretty nice restaurant just up the way,” I tell him. “If you like seafood. It’s called the Boathouse Landing.”
“I’m not very used to seafood— or at least not good seafood,” he says. “But there’s no better place or time to get more used to it. To the Boathouse Landing we go,” he says, marching resolutely forward, causing me to laugh yet again.
I can’t even remember the last time I laughed this much. I’m beginning to think it won’t be as easy to stay detached as I’d once thought.
Chapter 22 – Ramsey
The sun is beginning to set as Monica and I are seated. I don’t think the sunset is ever as beautiful anywhere as it is in Albuquerque, but I still think I have the best view, because Monica is here. It’s rather chilly, so I give her my jacket.
“What do you recommend?” I ask her, as I look at the menu, rather lost. I’m definitely not a seafood guy.
“We can try the seafood platter,” she says. “It should have something that even a landlocked person like you might like.”
“Very funny. But why not? Let’s do it. I’m feeling adventurous today.”
“You must be,” she says, “to have flown all the way here.”
I smile at her, but I’m kicking myself for not deciding to do it sooner. It’s silly that I have to fly back tomorrow, when I could have been with her all week, or even longer.
“You know,” I tell her. “My brothers wanted to take me on a ‘last hurrah’ trip to Vegas, but I wanted to come see you.”
She stares at me, a little confused, and I guess I don’t blame her.
“I’m saying that, because I wish I had more time to spend with you. I decided to come here, to Florida. I had no interest in Vegas. I just wanted to be with you.”
She smiles, and I reach across the table to hold her hand.
“I have a couple things I have to do back at home before I leave,” I continue. “Or else I would have come sooner. I found a place for my mom, but then my brothers decided on something different. But anyway. We’re going on a mini family trip in a couple days, and spending a little time together before Harlow and I leave. Otherwise I would stay longer.”
Monica nods, and smiles.
“Ramsey, I’m really surprised by your trip, and I’m just glad you came at all. Was it the soundtrack?”
I nod. “I can’t resist the pull of music.”
But really it was just my instinct, my crazy desires. I couldn’t go on deployment without seeing her one more time. As crazy as it sounds, listening to the music and remembering our time together, while knowing that was it, was just too unbearable.
I can’t tell her that, though. I have to respect her wishes. She doesn’t want a relationship. She doesn’t want commitment.
Our waiter approaches and asks if we’d like something to drink, or an appetizer.
“I’ll take a Jack and Coke,” I tell him. “And whatever the lady wants, of course.”
He smiles at her, but she just says, “I’m good with my water, thank you. And we already know what we’d like to eat.”
“Sure,” says the waiter, and she orders the platter.
I raise an eyebrow at her, because I haven’t known her to not order a drink. We definitely had our share of alcohol together in Albuquerque. And she seems a little rushed. Is she trying to hurry through our dinner date?
Stop overthinking everything, I tell myself. It’s a bad habit of mine. But I can’t help but try to bring it up.
“Taking it easy?” I ask her.
“What?” she says, looking as if I’d accused her of a crime.
“I mean, you don’t want anything to drink?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m kind of going through a healthy phase.” She smiles, as if a bit embarrassed, and I feel stupid for putting her on the spot. Not everyone drinks on every date, I remind myself.
“That’s cool,” I tell her. “Do you have some more training coming up? A PT test?”
“No, not really.” She looks out towards the bay. “I just…”
I wait for her to continue, but she looks hesitant.
“Actually, since you’ve mentioned work,” she says, but then takes her hand away from mine and rubs it nervously on her glass. “I just, I’ve been thinking about whether or not to continue.”
“To continue?” I ask, as our waiter brings my drink.
Just in time, because I think I’m going to need it. I know she mentioned “work,” but I can’t help fearing the worst: that she’s somehow talking about us, about continuing to date me. Which makes no sense, since I’m about to be overseas, and we’re not exactly “dating.”
“In the Air Force, I mean,” she says. “With my career. I’ve been thinking about retiring.”
I look at her, trying not to let my eyes bulge. It just wasn’t what I was expecting.
“I mean,” She continues, “I’d still work for the Air Force in some capacity, but maybe as a civilian. Maybe I’d capitalize on the educational benefits and go on to get my PhD in engineering or something.”
“Cool,” I say, although it’s only because I’m at a loss for words.
I’ve never really considered retiring. I just figured that jumping out of planes would be something I do until I die, either in combat or as an old man.
“With everything that’s happened with my brother, and with seeing the daily toll it takes on Susan, and on Becky, although she’s still pretty young… I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “It’s hard to explain. But life is short, and I’ve already lived it pretty hard. I want to see the world— not just war zones.”
“Yeah,” I say, able to relate to that sentiment. “That’d be nice.”
I’d never even been to Florida, to such a beautiful place as this beach.
“I want to spend time with those I’m closest to. I want to re-assess everything I guess.”
“I can understand.”
And I finally do.
“You’re young to be thinking about these things,” I tell her. “Retirement. Death. You sound much older.”
“But I get it,” I say quickly, as an offended look passes across her face. “It makes sense, knowing the life we’ve both lived.”
It hits me then, how much we have in common. She’s been through many of the same
experiences I’ve been through, or even worse. She’s flown a fighter pilot into enemy territory. Who knows what all she’s done and seen? She even lost her brother, whereas I only just almost lost mine.
I feel like she understands me in a way that no one else does. Not even my own brothers.
But I can’t say that, because that’s more like a Serious Relationship Discussion.
So instead, I just say, “I can definitely understand where you’re coming from. I’m not exactly in the same spot, but I can relate.”
And then our food arrives, a large platter that I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to finish.
“Here, try this fried shrimp first,” she says, lightening the mood as she dips a piece in cocktail sauce and then holds up it up for me to try. “I’m pretty sure that in the history of Florida, no one has ever not liked fried shrimp.”
She’s right. It’s delicious.
I eat more, and then I move on to crab legs, lobster tail, crawdad and even mussels— which aren’t my favorite, but I’m proud of myself for trying them.
“Please excuse me,” Monica says, mid-way through dinner.
She stands up to go to the restroom, with her hand on her stomach.
I sip my third Jack and Coke— glad that I don’t have to drive anywhere— and hope she’s okay. It was a sudden departure, and she had looked worried.
When she returns, I say, “Everything okay?” and she looks at me as if that’s an odd question.
“Oh yes,” of course, she says, sipping her water. “I just… I have a sensitive stomach. I have to watch what I eat, and drink. That’s part of why I’m on a health kick.”
“Oh okay,” I say, feeling a bit worried. “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”
“Well, now you have a big challenge in front of you,” she says, holding up an oyster.
“Oh my God. I don’t think I can eat that.”
“Oh come on. You said the same thing about the mussels, and you managed just fine.”
“Do you want me to join you in your illness?” I joke, but I slurp the center of the oyster, obediently.
There’s something sensual about the way she’s holding the oyster up to my mouth— and the way I’m taking it into my mouth like a lover, that catapults me right back into the romantic mood I had been in before Monica went to the restroom.
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