“Of course.”
He bowed his head and listened to her voice float in the chill air to him.“Father, You’re wonderful, and Your timing is perfect.Thank You for tonight, for this food, for this time together, and let this food nourish our bodies as we commit our bodies to Your service.”He started to pull his hand away, but she squeezed it tighter and added, “And keep Jerry safe from harm wherever he’s headed to.”
Jerry cleared his throat, emotion suddenly tightening it.“Thank you,” he said, then took a sip of the spicy warm cider.
She squeezed his hand one more time, then released it, picking up a fry.“Thanks for this.”
“One day, I’ll feed you a meal that doesn’t come with packets of condiments,” he said.
Her laughter floated around him, pulled him in, lit something inside him he hadn’t known was dim.“Tell you what.I’ll cook for you when you get back.”
He swallowed the flavorful beef and wiped his fingers on a paper napkin.“Having eaten at your house once before, I already know that’s something worth coming back to.”
Olive sank into the passenger seat of Jerry’s truck, the heater’s hum chasing off the December chill as the Cumberland River’s lights faded behind them.She would only admit to herself that she’d felt a little disappointment that he hadn’t shown up on his motorcycle.She would have liked the excuse to wrap her arms around him as they rode.
Her gray cap sat in her lap.She ran her fingers over it, enjoying the fuzzy feel, and briefly toyed with the pompom.His flannel jacket hugged his broad shoulders, his strong hands steady on the wheel.She would think that after seven years in and around the Army, she would be immune to the strong, handsome, dominant male type.
Apparently not.
“What a fun night,” she said, voice soft, breaking the quiet.“Thanks for dragging me out.”
Jerry stopped at a light and glanced her way.“I’m happy to bribe you with pastries any time.”
As she laughed, she shifted and turned her body toward him and tucked a leg under her.“Challenge accepted.”
A beat, then softer, “Glad you liked it, though.It’s always good to do something normal.Otherwise, what are we doing?”
Her chest tightened.His mission loomed tomorrow.“Normal’s good,” she said, fingers brushing his arm.
He nodded, gaze back on the road, but his jaw flexed like he wanted to say more.They rolled through Clarksville’s quiet streets, Christmas lights winking from porches and shrubs or glittery trees peeking through windows; lights wrapping streetlamps and telephone poles like candy canes, until he pulled into her driveway.The truck idled until he cut the engine, silence settling thick.
“Guess this is me,” she said, unbuckling but not moving.Her heart thudded.A strange tension, an energy, filled the cab.
Jerry paused.“I don’t want to leave tomorrow.”He turned to her, one hand resting on the wheel.Her heart started thudding.“I’ve never not embraced a mission.”He hesitated, opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then he shook his head and opened the door.That strange tension dissipated.
She grabbed her cap, sliding out of the cab when he opened her door.The cold nipped her cheeks, but his hand found hers—warm, callused, steady—guiding her up the path.
At her door, she fumbled with her keys, the porch light casting his shadow long.“Jerry, I—” She looked up, words stalling as his eyes locked on hers, intense, searching.
“Olive,” he cut in, voice low, “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
“I’ll be here.”She stood on her toes and slipped her arms around his neck.He pulled her close for a hug, squeezing her tight.For a tiny moment, her mind went back to seeing him on a gurney, bleeding from a bullet that hit too close to an artery.“I’ll be praying for you.”
She started to pull away, but his arms didn’t release her fully.She looked up at him, searching his face, heart pounding.He lifted a hand to her cheek.His fingertips felt cool, callused, and purposefully gentle.
“Close your eyes, Olive,” he said, his voice so low she could almost feel it.
A small smile came to her lips as her lashes fluttered down.The next moment, his warm lips covered hers.
Nothing in her life had ever felt as right as the feel of Jerry’s kiss.It was like everything she’d ever waited for, ever wanted, culminating in one single press of his lips.She pulled him closer, standing on her tiptoes, her fingers running through his hair.His hand gripped the back of her head, his other arm around her waist, steadying her.
His scent—clean soap laced with the fresh outdoors they’d enjoyed—filled her senses.She could taste warm cider, a touch of cinnamon on his lips.
She trailed her fingers down to his cheek, the day’s stubble rasping like a secret against her palm, warm and rough and alive under her touch.He eased the kiss to a murmur, lips lingering a breath away before he drew back just enough to lift his chin.There, in the glow of the porch light, his gaze locked on hers—dark, unblinking, a slow hunger uncoiling like smoke.Her breath hitched, mirroring the pull in her chest, her free hand fisting the collar of his jacket as if to steady them both against the tide rising between.
“Promise me you’ll stay safe.Promise,” she murmured, breathless.She intentionally relaxed her fingers.
“Promise I’ll try.”He brushed her lips once more, soft, then stepped back.“Goodnight, Olive Duncan.”
