by Jo Leigh
Didn’t mean he couldn’t laugh and enjoy her efforts. Jeez, she made him happy. It was hard to believe that he truly hadn’t given a thought to the Hayabusa since he’d been to the dealership. He’d started a downward spiral at the time, so certain life had dealt him a crippling blow. He’d had a year to adjust to being grounded while he was in training to be an instructor. But coming to Holloman had required him to face reality without pity or blinders.
And then there was Emma.... Man, he’d really figured he’d blown it with her that first night at dinner. How many times had he kicked himself for blurting out that he was grounded? He could’ve waited, or cushioned the news by telling her about a possible correction. Not that he was overly hopeful about the experimental surgery. He barely liked to think about it lest he become too invested in the idea of being fixed. The waiting list was long and even if he was selected, there was no guarantee the surgery would correct his vision enough to fly again.
Although if he could qualify to fly again, wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake? But no, he wasn’t greedy. He had so much already. And even though he knew Emma was disappointed that he wasn’t flying a Raptor, she’d never said one word. Which just proved that he was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
Music and crowd be damned, Sam pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the song...and the next...ended.
* * *
“FOR THE RECORD, I hate Shakespeare. I hate acting students. I hate costumes. I hate scenery. But most of all, I hate that every year I volunteer to participate in these nightmare plays, and that I never learn.”
Emma patted Sharon on the back, and in the true spirit of friendship, offered her the last chocolate chip cookie.
Sharon shook her head. “Thanks. But when I realized I couldn’t call in sick with no chance of recovery I brought the hard stuff.”
“No, you didn’t,” Emma said, opening up Sharon’s tote bag. It said something about how dire things were that Sharon didn’t even try to stop her. Emma pulled out a jar of Marshmallow Fluff and a tablespoon. Of course she thought of Sam and his stupid fluffernutter sandwiches. Though it took so little to send her mind in his direction. “I’m not letting you eat this.”
“I became an adult so I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted to. So yes. I am.”
“My God,” Gary said as he entered the break room. “You don’t even have to try to visualize that stuff clogging your arteries.”
“Shut up,” Sharon said, then turned to point at Irene and Gail, two of the math teachers who were mostly trying to ignore the fuss to concentrate on their lunches. “Don’t judge me. I’ve had four salads this week. Four.”
Emma’s attention was stuck on Gary. It had been over two weeks since they’d had that discussion in the café, and although he hadn’t brought up the topic of Sam since then, she hadn’t truly relaxed.
The urge at the moment was to tell him about the bike. How Sam hadn’t given it another thought, but bringing it up seemed...childish. She had nothing to prove to Gary. He had a right to think whatever he wanted about her relationship as long as he kept it to himself. And anyway, why should she care what he thought?
But she did. She wanted things to be the way they were before that stupid run up to Cloudcroft. Everything else had been obviously friend-based with a hint of maybe on the side. The picnic, though, despite her treating it like a race instead of a run, had been different.
“I’ll share my turkey sandwich with you,” he said, sitting down next to Sharon at the round table. “And if you still want your goop after, be my guest.”
Sharon gave him a look that should have singed his eyebrows. “Well, gee, Gary, now that I have your permission, I feel so much better.” She took the jar and opened it. Her dramatic gesture was somewhat diluted by the trouble she had removing the safety seal, but then she took a big old spoonful and stuck it straight in her mouth.
Gary looked pleadingly at Emma, who backed away from the table. It was the move of a chicken, but there was no way she was getting in the middle of that mess.
“Fine,” he said. “I give up. I will forever stay out of any discussion about your food choices.”
“That’s good,” Sharon said. “Because Joe and I are having a barbecue next Sunday, after the stupid play is over forever, and I want you to make your ribs.”
“You brazen wench,” he said. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“I know. I’m completely unpredictable. But you’ll still come, yes?”
“Yes.”
Sharon pointed her spoon at Emma. “I’d like you to bring salad and lemonade. Does Sam have any specialties?”
Emma darted a look at Gary, but he was digging into his turkey sandwich, seemingly without a care. “He used to do burgers and stuff on the roof of our apartment building. And he’s great at buying beer.”
“All right, then burgers and beer it is.” Sharon turned to Gary again. “Okay with you?”
“He’ll feel bad when everybody eats all my ribs and his burgers are left to burn in ignominy.”
“Ignominy?” Emma said. “Did someone have a special word of the day on their calendar this morning?”
“Mock me if you will, but I stand by my choice. Now pass me the thingy that makes salt dust.”
She laughed. He was funny, always had been. But there was still no comparison to Sam. It wasn’t Sam’s hotshot credentials that set him apart. He’d grown into such a fine man. She could go on for ages about his thoughtfulness, how he went out of his way not only for his students, but for her. He always made sure to have dinner ready if she had to work late. Mostly he got takeout, but she had no problem with that. On nights they were both home, they shared the task equally.
He might not be the neatest kid on the block, but he put his laundry in the hamper and didn’t give her any grief about wanting the kitchen in a particular order. On her league nights, he took care of his washing and ironing so they wouldn’t get in each other’s way. He hadn’t been back to bowling. They’d agreed it was probably for the best, considering.
But it was time for him to get to know her friends better, meet some he hadn’t met yet, and good for Sharon for breaching the subject so well. Emma didn’t want to hide him. Although since they’d decided to be together, she hadn’t wanted to share him much.
Tonight, it was Sam who would be home late. A meeting of instructors with some bigwig from D.C. coming to talk about the RPA program. The need for pilots and sensors had outpaced all expectations. Holloman trained almost four hundred pilot pairs per session, but there were rumors they might go to two shifts.
Sam had already told her he’d do all he could to keep to his schedule. Eight to five, five days a week. Just like real people. Nothing like a fighter pilot.
When Danny had been flying, he worked a ton of twelve-hour shifts, got deployed six months out of every two years, and on top of that, was assigned temporary duty three or four times a year, so it seemed almost unbelievable that Sam had gotten so lucky. It felt almost too good to be true.
If she had any complaint at all it was the bouncing back and forth part. They’d spent every night together, half the time at her house, the other half at his apartment. Sam had mentioned that it was crazy to keep two places, and though she agreed, they hadn’t explored the topic of moving in together. They’d sort of just let it fade. She couldn’t recall why. A lot of things seemed to fall by the wayside when they’d started kissing and making out like sixteen-year-olds. That was why she refused to grocery shop with him. She didn’t trust either of them not to cause a scene.
If this chemistry between them played out like she was hoping, they’d have the perfect life, really. Not that she’d ever admit it, but sometimes she let herself think about a long-term life with Sam. He’d admitted he wanted kids, so did she. At least two were on the wish list she’d brought out of stor
age and dusted off. With his reasonable hours, he’d have time to help with their kids’ homework. Time to go to soccer practice, to take his daughter to ballet.
She knew she was jumping the gun. It had only been a few weeks, not nearly long enough to tell if they were meant for marriage and family. Sure, they’d known each other forever, but it would be foolish to ignore that they each had changed some. Despite the fact that Sam said he’d forgotten about that motorcycle, she didn’t allow herself that luxury.
Her gaze went back to Gary. She thought of how certain he’d sounded, as if it was a foregone conclusion that Sam would revert to type. But Gary didn’t seem to realize that there were all kinds of fighter pilots. Including those who wanted a more traditional life. Good thing she’d remembered herself before she’d discounted Sam.
She ended up eating her cookie, listening to Sharon and Gary bicker like an old married couple. Emma would never admit it, and even thinking about it made her feel guilty, but she was glad Sam couldn’t fly anymore. That the choice had been taken out of his hands. God bless the air force and their rigid rules. Nothing short of a miracle would put Sam in a cockpit again.
13
EMMA KICKED SAM’S front door shut behind her, seeing as how she’d had to juggle keys, purse, laptop and briefcase. Naturally, that was when her phone rang.
She managed to fetch her cell, smiling the second she saw it was Sam. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said.
“It’s my turn to make dinner.”
Her view to the kitchen was unimpaired and the only things missing from it were Sam and dinner. “I imagine you’re slaving away at the stove right now.”
The door from the garage opened and Sam came in carrying a bag from the Golden Dragon. His grin was completely unapologetic. “It felt like a Chinese kind of night.”
“If you saw me struggling at the door while you drove by and decided to prank call instead of helping me, I’ll have to hurt you.”
He put the bag on the dividing counter, his phone in his pocket and pulled her close. “I would never do that.”
“Good answer.”
“Shall I set the table?” He found that sensitive spot on the side of her neck. “Or is there something else you’d rather we do?”
She grinned, kissed him, but instead of lingering like she wanted to, she said, “Oh, there’s something else, all right, but you won’t like it. I need to put away my things, and then get my laundry started before we eat.”
He frowned. “Seriously? Laundry wins over me making mad passionate love to you?” When she giggled, he lowered his head as he looked up because he knew what those puppy dog eyes did to her. “I got you your favorite.”
It probably would have been more of an enticement to eat now if he didn’t always get her favorite. “Thank you, that’s very sweet. But my things still need putting away, and I have to either wash clothes or drive to my house before tomorrow morning.”
“No, we don’t want that,” he said, releasing her and then squeezing her butt as he passed. It was one of his favorite things to do. Well, that and surprise her with sneaky kisses. “How about I start a load while you’re putting away your stuff?”
“After you change, you can start the washer—that would help.” She ignored his smile. So she was particular about how she washed and dried her clothes. He was careful with his uniforms, therefore, they were even.
She watched him walk toward the bedroom, then turned to the briefcase she’d set down on the floor. Her gaze fell on the kitchen trash bin. Poking out from under this morning’s napkins was a brochure. Something about it compelled her to pull it free. Her heart lurched in her chest as she realized what it was: a sales brochure for the sports bike. The peregrine falcon on wheels.
Just looking at the sleek, aerodynamic motorcycle made her cringe at how fast it was capable of going. How she’d have worried for his life every day if he’d bought it, even if they’d never become lovers.
That he’d thrown it in the trash was amazing. She felt certain he hadn’t left it there for her to see. He didn’t know how she felt about the stupid thing because she hadn’t said. He’d tossed it because it no longer called to him.
Maybe it was because he liked being an instructor more than he’d ever imagined. Or perhaps it was because they’d been so busy together that he didn’t have time to think about the bike. But it was also quite possible that he’d done it for her. For them.
Emma found him coming out of the bedroom, his uniform replaced by her favorite worn jeans and a tight-fitting white T-shirt. Before he even knew what hit him, she was climbing him like a tree, her hands in his hair, her kiss leaving no questions about what they were going to do for dessert.
Being a man of action, he helped by cupping her bottom as she kept trying to wrap her leg around his hips, holding them both steady with his other hand and giving as good as he got in the kiss department.
She considered dragging him straight into the bedroom, but no, this was enough for now. She could feel his enthusiasm getting harder by the moment and his moans were of the oh-God-don’t-stop variety.
But they did have to breathe. He pulled back first, clearly puzzled. “Why?”
She smiled as she moved in for a second round. “Because I’m crazy in love with...moo shoo pork.”
* * *
IT WASN’T A BIG SURPRISE that Sam insisted on helping her with the laundry. Or that he sneaked in a couple of his own items. Standing shoulder to shoulder in the garage laundry alcove they made sure pockets were emptied and her delicates were in the lingerie bag. He’d left a tag on one of his camo shirts, but in the end, the first load, the one without towels, was full enough and Emma bent over to start the machine.
She’d expected a grope, but Sam’s phone rang, and when he looked at the caller’s name, his back straightened and his brows went up. He walked away from the rumble of the washer to say hello.
She thought about waiting for him but that seemed intrusive. Most likely it was someone from work, but it could have been his mom or John. Maybe even someone from his old base.
Anyway, it was time for her to start sorting out their dinner. She left him leaning against his Mustang as she walked back into the house. His “Are you serious?” something to intrigue her as she got out plates and chopsticks and the most adorable handmade soy sauce bowls she’d gotten at the Fall Festival the year before.
He’d probably want a beer, but she didn’t take it out in case this was a soda night. She broke with tradition and poured herself a ginger ale. Then she portioned out their plates, him with the lion’s share of lo mein, and her hogging most of the moo shoo.
She did keep glancing at the garage door. Before dinner was over she wanted to tell him about the barbecue at Sharon’s, and see if he felt comfortable enough to come. God, she hoped—
“You are never going to believe this,” he said, slamming through the door. His eyes were wide and his cheeks flushed, and her heart started pumping fast.
“What?”
“It was the surgeon’s office from California. Someone dropped out of the program, and they want me to take her place. Shit. They’d said it would be a year, maybe two.”
A surgeon from California? “What are you talking about?” She crossed her arms over her T-shirt and stood still with her hip against the counter. Someone had to counterbalance Sam practically flying around the room.
“You know about the screwup with my left eye.”
“Uh-huh.”
He shook his head, and she could tell he was trying to calm down so he could explain. “There’s a chance it can be fixed. I probably won’t get to 20/20, but hey...” He looked at his watch. “I can still teach class tomorrow, then fly to Los Angeles in the evening. Basically I’ll only miss one day of work.”
“Whoa. Slow down.”
“What?” He
stared at her as if he was having trouble focusing. “Emma, this is amazing. I didn’t expect this.”
Obviously neither had she, since she had no idea what he was talking about.
“I’ll fly commercial,” he said, mostly to himself. “I can’t afford to hop a transport and miss the appointment.”
“Wait— You’ve already confirmed you’re going?”
“Well, yeah. I turn down this chance and I’m back on the list, and it literally could take another year.”
“What list?”
He stared at her for a moment. “I’m sorry, honey. I forgot you don’t know the details.” He breathed in deeply, then moved closer to take her hand. “The complication I had only affects a small percentage of people, yet it’s enough for doctors to work on a fix because the surgery itself has uses outside of this particular issue. They’ve been at it for several years and their success rate is impressive.”
“Is it laser surgery? You know stats?”
“Yes.” He smiled and rubbed her arm. “A few years ago they were able to help one out of five people. Now the success rate is significantly better.”
“Okay,” she said, the information trickling into her brain in bits and pieces. She’d never had a problem with her vision, but she could understand wanting to see clearly without contacts or glasses. “Can you just leave tomorrow evening?”
He nodded. “Colonel Stevens knows I’m on the wait list. He won’t have a problem with me going. It’s a huge opportunity.”
Emma tensed. His boss knew? So why hadn’t Sam told her? And why would he tell his boss something like that, anyway? A horrible thought occurred to her. No, this surgery couldn’t be about qualifying to fly again. The air force was strict about vision requirements. “You never mentioned... I had no idea this was even a possibility.”
“Not because I didn’t want you to know.” His hand moved up her arm to massage the tightness in her shoulder. “I didn’t like thinking about it. This procedure isn’t regularly scheduled. I’ve been on the list for six months and was told it would be another year, minimum, so I wasn’t counting on anything happening this soon.”
