“Nah, bro. It’s not creepy. That’s just your paranoia talkin’.” Miguel slapped Ken on the shoulder. “Wes is just smiling ’cause he’s gonna go see his girl soon.”
Wes walked over to his dog’s bed and scratched the old German Shepherd behind the ears. Rex had already had his trip outside. He’d be fine here for a while. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Right. Have it your way.” Miguel chuckled and shook his head. “It takes a woman to put that stupid smile on most men’s faces. But I guess for you all it takes is eggs and bacon. How about I join you for breakfast this morning?”
“Sure, but won’t your wife be upset when you don’t come home for the breakfast she’ll have waiting for you?”
“Good point.” Miguel patted his flat belly. “Nobody cooks like my Celia. Guess I’ll head home after all.”
The back door swung wide, letting in a blast of early November air. “Morning,” Ted Lovejoy said, holding the door open for his fiancée, Cory.
“Hey, Ted, Cory.” Wes did his customary once-over on Cory to make sure everything was good with her. Her radiant expression said it all. She was doing well and continuing to heal from the trauma she’d suffered at the hands of her staff sergeant a couple of years ago.
He and Cory had grown up in the same trailer park on the south side of Evansville, and he’d always looked out for her. She and his youngest sister were best friends and had been since the day Cory and her mother moved into the park. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”
“I’m glad you brought it up,” she said, taking him by the arm. “Come with me. I have a favor to ask.”
His stomach rumbled, but this was Cory. Hunger could wait. She led him to the storefront, dropped his arm and fished around inside the purse she carried over her shoulder.
Pulling out a thick, butter-colored envelope, she turned a hopeful look his way. “This is your invitation to our wedding. I’ve talked it over with my mom, and she agrees. You’re like a brother to me, Bunny,” she said, reverting to his childhood nickname. “You’re the reason I have my job here. If it weren’t for you, Ted and I wouldn’t have met. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you in my life.” Her voice quavered. “Will you walk me down the aisle?” She handed him the invitation.
“Whoa, Squirrel. Didn’t see that coming.” Warmth spread through his chest. “I’d be honored.” He stared at the fancy script on the front of the envelope. Wesley Holt… and guest.
“Good.” Cory patted his forearm. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?” He raised his gaze to hers.
“Bring a date.”
“Uh… no. I don’t think so.” He rubbed his forehead and shifted his weight, edging toward escape. “I’m not—”
“Ask Carlie. We’d like her to be there, but we don’t know her well enough to invite her.” Cory’s chin angled up a determined notch. “You and Carlie have chemistry. Neither one of you can keep your eyes off the other when you’re at the diner.” She poked him in the chest. “Ask her.”
Memories swamped him—an e-mail sent by his wife, now his ex, while he was deployed. Two short paragraphs. That was all she wrote, but those two paragraphs had plunged him into a deep, dark well of misery and rage the night before a mission. His throat tightened, and a familiar image flashed into his brain. Wes forced the image of the young Marine’s face back into the far recesses of his mind, but then the anger and betrayal living in his gut like a parasitic worm raised its ugly head. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, while visualizing himself stomping the worm into the rocky desert with his Blackhawk Desert Ops combat boots.
He no longer risked getting involved. Who needed that kind of pain? Not him. His heart was no longer up for grabs. Coping with his PTSD was about all he could handle, thank you very much.
“It’s time, Wes.” Cory’s brown eyes filled with concern as she peered up at him. “Just because your heart was broken once doesn’t mean the same thing is going to happen again.”
It had been a struggle, a constant uphill climb, but he was content with his life and somewhat at peace. Admiring Carlie from a distance was all he could handle. What did he know about her, anyway? Sure, he lusted after her, but… Nope. Not worth it. The dreams he’d had for a family of his own were long dead. Besides, he was almost forty—too late for a do-over. He’d gotten into the habit of sleeping during the day because he had fewer nightmares then, and even though he’d come a long way in the past year and a half, he still experienced the occasional flashback. Irritability and paranoia still got the best of him sometimes, and he never could predict what might trigger a reaction. What kind of parent and partner would he make? “I’ll think about it.” No, I won’t.
“Good.” Cory nodded. “Think about it all the way down the street to the diner, and then ask her.”
He raised the invitation. “Consider me RSVP’d. I’d be honored to walk you down the aisle.”
“Thanks, Bunny.” Cory’s voice went shaky again. “My dad was a Marine, too, you know. Having you stand in his place means the world to me.”
The next thing he knew, she had him in a hammerlock hug. His heart melted, and he hugged her back. “Me too,” he mumbled before disentangling himself. “Get to work, Squirrel. I’ve got to go get something to eat.”
“All right.” She glanced at him, her eyes bright. “While you’re at the diner, don’t forget to ask Carlie to be your date for our wedding.”
“Humph. Think I’ll head on out to the truck stop for breakfast this morning,” he teased.
Cory’s laughter brought his smile back. He handed her the invitation. “Put this in my in-box in the production room, would you? I’ll grab it when I get back.” His smile once more firmly fixed, Wesley headed the two blocks down the street to the local diner. Pancakes sounded mighty good this morning, or French toast with a side of thick-cut bacon and extra-crispy hash browns with onions.
Half a block away from the diner, the air carried the scent of sausage, bacon and onions. He salivated, and not just for food. The image of Carlie Stewart bustling around the retro fifties diner in her snug black jeans, equally snug white T-shirt and red apron did that to him. In the summer, she’d worn shorts, giving him an eyeful of her shapely legs. Even better.
The small bell chimed as he opened the door. He looked around… and frowned. Someone was sitting at his corner table—the table Carlie always reserved for him. She was nowhere to be found. Disappointment fogged his brain.
Jenny Maurer, the diner’s owner, approached. “Good morning, Wes.” She motioned him toward a different table.
He didn’t budge. “Where’s Carlie?” Since he’d moved to Perfect, he’d never known her to miss work. His gaze roamed the interior of the diner, even though he knew he wouldn’t find her there. Her absence was a tangible force pressing him back against the wall. Overreact much? Nothing more than his PTSD acting up. Slow inhale. Slow exhale.
“We don’t know. She didn’t show up for work this morning, and she hasn’t called.” Jenny’s brow creased with worry.
That brought him up short. A prickle of unease raised the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “Did you call her?”
Jenny nodded. “Several times. She’s not answering.”
Acknowledgments
I want to thank the folks at Princess Cruises, Montlake Romance, and the folks at Kindle Love Stories for making this entire wonderful experience possible. I also want to thank Kelli Martin for taking time out of her busy schedule to coordinate the project and to edit Once Upon a Night at Sea.
About the Author
Photo © 2013 A Dannette Photography
As a child, Barbara Longley moved frequently, learning early on how to entertain herself with stories. Adulthood didn’t tame her peripatetic ways: she has lived on an Appalachian commune, taught on an Indian reservation, and traveled the country from coast to coast. After having children of her own, she decided to try staying put, choosing Minnesota as her home. By day, she puts her master
’s degree in special education to use teaching elementary school. By night, she explores all things mythical, paranormal and newsworthy, channeling what she learns into her writing.
Ms. Longley loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website, www.barbaralongley.com, Twitter @barbaralongley, or on Facebook facebook.com/barlongley.
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