by Scarlet West
I felt my whole body catch fire. My throat was tight, so I coughed to clear it. “Yeah?” I said.
“Want to come over for spaghetti?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes, I would like that,” I said. “Thanks.”
Her green eyes widened in surprise – somehow, I don’t think she’d expected I’d accept. Then she nodded.
“Okay,” she said shakily. “Six-thirty?”
“Sure,” I shrugged. “Sounds great.”
We looked at each other again, and then I felt my cheeks flare as I saw a different sort of inquiry in her eyes. She seemed to be trying to figure me out. I blushed. It felt odd to be the object of such scrutiny. I recalled the last time I’d actually spoken to her – in the bar, when I’d reacted so badly to her mistake.
I was about to try and apologize, when she thrust a scrap of paper with her hastily scribbled address into my hand.
“See you at six-thirty,” she said softly.
“Okay,” I said nervously; but she’d already gone.
15
Hayley
What the hell was I thinking inviting him to dinner? I was in the kitchen. Joshua was outside in the courtyard, kicking a soccer ball around. He had changed, since the encounter in the shop. Become livelier, more confident.
Maybe he felt the same strange sense of safety that I did around Reid.
Perhaps it was his sheer size that signaled strength and vitality. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been a soldier. Or maybe it was the hint of vulnerability I’d seen twice now peeking out from under all that initial bluster, that made me feel okay in his presence. I emptied a tin of mushrooms into the sauce, feeling my heart flipping over in my chest.
I thought about Reid. He’d been wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and I couldn’t help the pleasure I felt, recalling how the t-shirt stretched taut against his tight muscles. My body started tingling all over.
“Hayley Jones. You’re twenty-seven, not fifteen.”
All the same, I was smiling.
I stirred more mushrooms into the sauce, and reached for some cheese. I grinned at Joshua’s fulsome praise. I wasn’t sure if I even made the best spaghetti I’d tasted, never mind the world’s best spaghetti.
I watched him running around the garden, scoring goals in the flowerbeds. I bit my lip and hoped the neighbors wouldn’t notice again.
“Mom!” Josh yelled, running inside. “I managed to kick a goal like that one we saw in the match last November! Remember? Mm! That smells good.”
“That’s great,” I nodded. “Thanks,” I added. “Almost done.”
I reached for a pinch of oregano, checking the time. It was six o’ clock. I froze.
“Um, Josh?” I asked.
“Yes, Mom?” He was sitting at the kitchen table, lining up the sticks of raw spaghetti.
“Can you stir this sauce for me, please?” I asked. “I just want to go change. Just be very careful please.”
“Okay, Mom,” he said, frowning at me curiously.
I ran down the hall to my room and reached for my hairbrush. Letting my hair out of the ponytail, I frantically combed it, then reached for the straightener, hoping I had a second or two to put in a curl. I shook my head at myself.
“Come on, Hayley. Don’t overdo it.”
Still feeling my cheeks flushed with excitement, I reached for my makeup. I smeared on red lipstick, bit down on a tissue to smooth off the color and added blusher and a pair of earrings. I was wearing a white sweater and jeans. I reckoned it was formal enough for an informal dinner. I took of my trainers and added my gold ballet flats.
“Wow!” Josh said, turning around in surprise as I came into the kitchen.
“What?” I frowned, feeling my face flush. I took the spoon from him, resuming my task.
“You look pretty,” he said.
I felt my cheeks warm with a blush. “Thanks,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything, but when he opened his school bag to get out a book, I could see that he was smiling.
I finished the sauce by six-thirty, my nerves feeling ragged. As I slipped the finished pasta into the warming drawer, Joshua reading aloud from his reading assignment, I heard the doorbell ring.
I opened the door.
“Hello,” Reid said.
I felt my cheeks heat with color. He was there, all six-foot-something of him. He was dressed in a blue shirt and jeans. He smelled like spice and musk, and his hair was gelled back from his forehead.
He was smiling at me.
I felt my head drift off somewhere else, and my stomach twisted with a mix of excitement, nerves, and caution.
“Hi,” I said. I scraped a strand of blond hair out of my eye and swallowed hard.
“Dinner smells good,” he said.
I felt my heart twist with joy.
16
Hayley
I ran my tongue across my lips, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I was sweating, but whether it was excitement or nerves, I had no idea. I was excited and scared and intimidated and joyful and alive. I felt, for the first time in ages, absolutely and irrefutably alive. I looked up at those gorgeous cerulean-blue eyes and felt my stomach tie itself into a big knot. Reid was staring down at me, and I suddenly realized I hadn’t said anything to him other than ‘hi.’
“Welcome,” I said. “Come in.”
He smiled at me and nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He drew in another breath. “Man that really does smell good.”
I flushed again. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up,” I demurred, acutely aware of him as he paused by the door, shrugging off his coat. He rolled his shoulders and I noticed again how big and strong they looked.
“Well, your son has high praise,” he said, turning to smile at me. “My son exaggerates,” I said lightly. “He is only seven.”
“Oh.” He raised a brow. I expected him to ask how it was that I had such a grown-up son when I only looked to be in my twenties, but he just shrugged. “He’s a smart boy.”
I smiled at the praise. “I think so too,” I said.
“Mom!” Joshua burst out of the kitchen, then stopped. I saw his eyes travel up the length of Reid, getting wide, and I wanted to chuckle.
He is a fine specimen.
It felt so strange to have him there in my house – oddly intimate, in ways I hadn’t expected; ways that made me heat from the inside out. I watched my son’s eyes grow round. “Reid! You’re here!” he said. He looked genuinely surprised. I felt my heart flip over.
“Reid did say he was going to come.”
My son looked at me, wide-eyed. “I know. But he meant it,” he said.
I closed my eyes, acutely aware of the number of times my son had gotten the short end of the stick in his life. More times than I could remember, I’d ended up disappointing him; simply because there was no way it was possible to keep promises I’d made.
Reid seemed to sense it was an awkward moment, because he cleared his throat. “It smells awesome,” he said, sniffing again. “I reckon you’re right, Joshua. This is the best spaghetti in the world.”
“It is!” Joshua yelled. He scampered back into the kitchen, then turned around and looked at me. “Are we going to eat in the kitchen?”
“Sure,” I said. “Can you clear away your things, Josh?”
“I’m doing it!” he called back, and I came in to find him packing his books into his backpack. “We had to read about a visit to the doctor,” he informed Reid candidly. “I don’t like doctors. Do you?”
“Doctors can be very useful,” Reid said lightly. “If you’re hurt or sick.”
“Yeah!” my son enthused. “Like when I fell out of a tree! Look, I have a big scar. See?”
“Yeah,” Reid nodded, looking at my son’s knee with suitable awe. “That’s big.”
I bit back a smile, listening to them chat. My heart twisted with a mix of joy and sadness. I had never heard Joel so much as pay a moment’s interest in his child. From the event of Josh’s arrival to the last time I saw h
im, Joel had only accused me of “trapping him” into fathering a child, or used Joshua as a means to threaten me.
“When I grow up,” Joshua was informing Reid, as I dished up the dinner, “I want to be a paramedic.”
“That’s an amazing job,” Reid nodded. “Paramedics are really important. They save lives.”
I watched the two of them interacting and, as I did so, I found myself wondering what Reid did for a living. I knew he was only just out of the Army, but did he have another profession in mind now that he was back in town?
“Okay, everyone,” I called, as Josh finished clearing the table. “Dinner’s here.”
My son took his seat with usual excitement. He was growing every day, and I sometimes joked there wasn’t enough food in Westland to feed him. He seemed to have an endless appetite.
I put a plate down for each of them, feeling strangely nervous. What would Reid think? I sat down myself, acutely aware of him as he rolled the spaghetti around his fork, much more elegantly than I’d have expected.
“Oh, man.” He closed his eyes, chewing blissfully. I felt my heart flare.
“It’s good, huh?” My son asked through a mouthful of food.
“That,” Reid said, setting his fork down on the table, “is amazing. Really great. Best I ever had.”
He was looking straight at me and my whole body went hot. I leaned back in my chair, trying to ignore the fact that I was aroused beyond words.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“I did say it was the best,” Joshua said, with the air of someone who had been disbelieved.
I grinned. “Thanks, Josh,” I said.
I meant it. I couldn’t thank him enough for his candid invitation. I was sitting here, with Reid, in my kitchen, having the most fun I could remember.
“It’s true, Mom,” Josh said. He wound the spaghetti around his fork, in open imitation of Reid. Then he stuffed an enormous ball of it in his mouth. I had to laugh.
Reid and I grinned at each other while watching his cheeks stuffed to the max.
“He’s a great kid,” Reid whispered.
“Thanks,” I said.
“And really, the spaghetti is good,” he said. “You’re a great cook.”
“Thank you.” I looked down at the table, aware that I was about to cry. It had been so long since anyone had actually paid me a compliment. Anyone besides Josh, that was. I blinked rapidly.
When I looked up, Reid was watching me with a little frown.
“Sorry,” I said, flapping a hand in the direction of my face. “Just overheated.”
“Yeah,” he said politely. “Hot in here, huh?”
I agreed, and got up quite deliberately to open the window. As I looked out over the garden, drawing in a long gulp of air, I heard Josh briefly leave the table and then come back in.
“Look,” he said. He’d brought a figurine with him from his room – something a bit like the G.I. Joe of my mom’s youth, but smaller and better made.
I saw Reid frown as he took it. He looked at it, turning it round in his hand. I was surprised Josh had brought it in; it was his prized possession, something my mom bought for him. He didn’t let anyone touch his “best things”. Even cleaning on the windowsill where he stashed them was challenging.
“It’s a sniper,” he said proudly, with the air of one who knows. “Granny gave him to me. His name’s Lucas and he comes all the way from Germany.”
“He’s beautifully made,” Reid said. He had the strangest expression on his face as he looked at the little figure. “I don’t let anybody play with him,” my son said proudly.
“He’s got a little Mauser rifle,” Reid said, pointing at the gun. “Look.”
My son frowned as Reid pointed at some tiny feature. He swallowed hard as he explained to my son why he’d been able to identify the gun type. Josh was listening carefully, nodding his head. I just leaned back and watched the two of them, my heart full.
“Is everybody full?” I asked, as I surreptitiously cut my spaghetti.
“Is there any left?” my son demanded. I raised a brow.
“Yes. Josh is growing,” I explained to Reid. He laughed.
“I understand. I remember being his age.”
“Wow,” my son said, evidently impressed.
We all laughed.
I refilled my son’s plate and poured a bottle of lemonade into three glasses for us, taking it over to the table. Reid and Josh were quiet when I got back, the little soldier standing guard by Josh’s side.
“You have a good day today?” Reid asked me as my son made inroads into his pasta.
“Yes,” I said. “We went to the park and Josh played soccer.”
“You like soccer?” Reid asked Josh. I saw his eyes light up.
“I love it.” Josh nodded. “I’m going to be on the team next year.”
“I said maybe,” I said cautiously. Reid nodded.
“Why not?” he said. “If it’s your passion?”
I noticed another funny expression cross his face, even as my son nodded, launching into an excited relaying of his exploits that morning.
What were you, before you moved back here?
I couldn’t fathom Reid. All I knew was that he was very interesting. And I wanted to learn more.
We finished dinner and I glanced at the clock. Joshua’s bedtime was at eight. It was seven-thirty.
“Can I play outside?” Josh asked, as I stood to clear away the dishes.
I shrugged. “Okay,” I said. “But at eight it’s bath-time. Okay?”
“Yes, Mom!” he called cheerfully, already heading through the door.
When he’d gone, Reid and I looked at each other. We didn’t say anything. The supper dishes and the soldier stretched between us. The table felt impossibly long; a big distance between us two.
“When I…”
“If you…”
We both talked together. I blushed.
“Sorry,” I said. “No,” he said gently. “I interrupted you. After you.”
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t realized how used I’d got to Joel’s derision, his hypercriticism. I felt surprised by anything else. I coughed, clearing my throat.
“I was going to say, if you want a drink? When Josh has gone to bed we could have a beer.”
“Oh.” He looked surprised. Then he nodded. “Actually, yeah. I’d love that.”
“Great.”
My voice was impossibly squeaky. I swallowed hard to clear it. “What were you going to say?” I asked, as I rinsed our plates.
“Oh.” He went red. I felt myself want to smile. It was uniquely pleasant seeing him so disconcerted.
I waited for him to find his words, stacking plates to be cleaned. After a long moment, he cleared his throat and spoke.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said. “For that day last week. It was a bad day, but that’s not an excuse.”
“It’s okay,” I said. I felt surprised by how strongly that affected me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear him apologize. “We all have bad days.”
Again, he got that funny smile; the one he’d got when he was talking to my son about the guns.
“Yeah,” he said.
Josh burst in through the door and I heard him trotting down the hall. A few seconds later, I heard the water running in the shower. I looked at Reid. He shrugged and I opened the fridge.
He looked at the can with a quirked smile as I passed it to him. “Budweiser,” he said.
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
He grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve drunk some pretty weird things in my time. Budweiser sure is better than those were.”
I laughed. “Must’ve been pretty bad.”
He pulled a face. “Trust me.”
I opened my beer, wincing at the taste. I never had been a fan of beer. I drunk it now and then, but I much preferred white wine.
“You traveled a lot?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You coul
d say that. To the Afghan border.”
“Afghanistan?” I stared at him; eyes wide. “You were there?”
He shrugged. He looked embarrassed, my reaction clearly making him uncomfortable. “Yeah. With the Army.”
“Ah, yes, you know I think I’d heard that you were in the Army,” I nodded.
“Yeah,” he said.
Something about the tone of his voice made me pause. It wasn’t harsh; not exactly. It just had a sort of grating finality, as if that was all he wanted to say. I paused.
“Must be good to be home,” I said.
He laughed, but it didn’t really hold any humor. “I guess,” he said.
We didn’t say anything for a while. I drank and watched his face. It was blank, but his eyes were filled with emotions. I had a sense that he was lost in the past, reliving some experience he’d had then. I kept quiet, waiting for him to speak.
“And you?” he said after a long moment. “You’re not from here.”
“No,” I said carefully. “I grew up in Portland. My mom’s still there.”
“I see,” he said. “Moved here after your studies?”
“I didn’t finish college,” I said.
“I see.”
We didn’t say anything for another long moment. I felt him watching me, and I wondered if he was trying to guess at my story. I cleared my throat.
“Joshua was born in my first year at college.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Normally, I would have felt discomforted by that, and a little freaked out. Oddly, with him, I didn’t, though. Whatever was on his mind, judging me was not part of it. I waited.
“That’s pretty tough,” he said after a long while. “And brave.”
“Thanks,” I said. My throat was all tight then. Nobody, not even my mom, had said anything that affected me quite as much as that. Mom had been supportive, helpful, kind. But nobody had ever said I was brave.
He looked up at me. His eyes really were very blue, I noticed; the pupils were ringed in a slate color, but the irises were dark, almost like bluebells.
I felt myself lean forward fractionally. His knees were close to mine under the table. His hand rested about an inch from my fingers. I felt his hand move over mine, the fingers gripping, warmly, over my own.