“That’s terrible. You’d better be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Nobody had ever expressed concern for his well-being before. His chest tightened. In Dark Ops, they said,keep your head down, which meant, don’t get hurt because you’ll fuck up the mission. He had fucked up when claustrophobia kicked in, which led to reassignment to a supervisory position, i.e. a desk job.
“I will. They put me to work making tables.”
“Like the one we have here in the cabin.”
“Yeah, some bigger. Next week, I’m supposed to deliver an order to one of the villages.”
“Fair Shake?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Darmaine is sending an order of blankets there, too.”
“Any blankets you made?” he asked.
“Well, not yet!” She laughed. “Maybe one or two by next week. Mine will be the lumpy ones.”
“My tables will be the ones with one leg shorter than the others.”
She giggled again. “We’ll both be lucky to keep our jobs, although Darmaine is desperate for help, so she might cut me a little slack.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your work,” he said, having heard about it at dinner.
“I am. I’m glad yours is okay.”
“Better than okay. I might have downplayed that a little,” he said. “Your feet are warm now.” Her fragrant hair tickled his nose. Rounded buttocks rested against his groin; his forearm pressed against her generous breasts. If he moved his hand…
“Oh yeah. I’m good now.” She scooted away.
Dammit.He hadn’t been hinting she should move away—he’d been making conversation. That’s why he didn’t talk a lot! He should have kept his mouth shut.
“Good night, Marshall.”
Dammit.“Good night.”
She rolled away. He lay awake, listening to her soft exhalation, listening to her breathing grow quieter and quieter.
“Amity? Are you awake?” he whispered.
There was no reply, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.
“I’m glad I married you,” he murmured.
Chapter Seven
I can’t believe we’ve been on Refuge for a week!Amity worked the loom, starting her third blanket. She’d gotten much faster and more competent, finishing her second blanket in half the time it had taken to do the first. During lunches, she’d worked on a personal project. It was coming along nicely. She smiled with satisfaction.
Life was good.
I’m glad I married you.Marshall’s whispered words when he’d thought she’d fallen asleep had relit her hope, awakening the infatuation that had only lain dormant but hadn’t been snuffed out. Heart hammering, she’d waited to hear if he’d say more, but he hadn’t. Nor had he said it since—unless she had been asleep the other times. By the end of the day, sometimes it was hard to keep her eyes open, although she tried.
While the concept of him waiting until she was asleep to confess his undying love sounded romantic, she hoped if it ever happened, he would ensure she was awake!
Wary after so many bad dates and failed relationships, she hesitated to label her emotions love, but around him, her heart went pitter-patter.
Their nightly pillow talk was the highlight of her day, although she did most of the talking. Epitomizing the strong silent type, Marshall didn’t say much, but he was a good listener, and when he did have something to say, it was all the more meaningful.
