“Have you decided what you’re cooking?” he asked.
“Of course I have,” she told him scornfully.
“And that would be?”
She sighed, as though she was a master chef dealing with obtuse underlings. “I’ve decided to cook my specialty.”
“Which is?”
“A surprise,” she said without pause, using her hands to shoo him out the door. He watched her march into the kitchen. From the corner of his eye, Adam saw her pull several cookbooks off the shelf.
After he’d finished his errands, Adam decided to visit the ice-cream parlor, after all. It was just too hard to stay away. As he’d expected, Shana was doing a robust business. Catherine worked on the pizza side with a young assistant, while Shana and another part-time student served ice cream. They had at least a dozen customers waiting their turn. Adam took a seat and when Shana saw him, she blushed, fussed with her hair, then went back to helping her customers. Her self-conscious reaction pleased him. Ten minutes later, she had a chance to take a break.
After washing her hands, she joined him. “Hi,” she said, offering him a shy smile.
He hadn’t known there was a shy bone in her body until he’d kissed her. That kiss had been a revelation to him. Their feelings weren’t simple or uncomplicated, although he hadn’t deciphered the full extent of them yet. He did know their kiss had changed them. Changed their relationship.
He’d been attracted to her from the beginning and was sure she’d felt the same way about him. They’d skirted each other for weeks, both denying the attraction, and then all of a sudden, after that day in Victoria, it was there. Undeniable. Unmistakable. He no longer tried to hide his feelings and she didn’t, either.
“Where’s Jazmine?” she asked. “In the park?”
He shook his head. “At home, cooking dinner. Her specialty, she says. I don’t suppose you have any clue what that might be?”
“You left her alone?” Shana’s eyes widened with alarm. “In the kitchen with the stove on? Adam, she’s only nine! Sometimes that’s hard to remember, but she’s still just a kid.”
“She seemed perfectly fine,” he said, suddenly deciding Shana was right. “She’s the one who sent me to the store.” He slid out of the booth. “I’ll get back now.”
Shana sighed, then stretched out one hand and stopped him. “It was good to see you,” she said in a low voice.
He gave her hand a small squeeze. “You, too. Don’t be late for dinner.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
Once again Adam started toward the door, then paused and turned around. “What’s her specialty?”
Shana grinned. “It’s probably canned chili with grated cheese on top.”
He dismissed that. “I think it might be more involved. Whatever it is requires a cookbook.”
Shana’s grin faded. “In that case, you’d better hurry.”
“I’m on my way.”
Shana smiled again, and it reminded him—as if he needed reminding—how attracted he was to her. And just when their relationship was beginning to show real promise, he’d be leaving the Seattle area.
She followed him to the front door. “Any word on that transfer?” she asked.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d been reading his mind. “Not yet.” It wouldn’t be long, though. Hawaii was a dream assignment. Who wouldn’t want to be stationed there? With its endless miles of white sandy beaches and sunshine, Hawaii had always appealed to him. Yet Seattle, known for its frequent drizzle and gray skies, was of more interest now than the tropical paradise.
“Did you mention anything about the transfer to Jazmine?” she asked.
He shook his head. He couldn’t make himself do it.
“Coward,” she muttered.
Adam shrugged lightly. “Guilty as charged.”
Shana glanced at her watch. “I’ll be leaving in about an hour and a half.”
“Okay, I’ll let Martha Stewart know.” Feeling the need to touch her, he reached for her hand. Even with the restaurant full of customers, they entwined their fingers, and it was a long moment before either of them moved. He felt the urge to take her in his arms and she must have felt the same impulse because she swayed toward him before shaking her head and dropping her hand.
“I should get back to work and you need to get back to Jazmine,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“Right.”
“Bye.” Shana gave him a small wave. Adam heard the reluctance in her voice, a reluctance he shared.
Jazmine met him at the front door, took his bags and banned him from the kitchen. “I can’t be disturbed,” she said grandly.
Adam turned the television on again and sat with one ankle balanced on his knee, aiming the remote. He couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch. “Need any help in there?” he called out.
“No, thanks.”
Five minutes later he repeated the offer.
This time Jazmine ignored him, but soon afterward, she asked, “Aunt Shana isn’t going to be late, is she?”
“She’d phone,” Adam said, and hoped she would.
At three minutes after eight, Shana walked into the house. “I’m home,” she said unnecessarily.
Adam stood and Jazmine hurried eagerly out of the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished,” she said.
As if on cue, Adam’s stomach growled.
With a sweeping gesture of her arm, Jazmine invited them into the kitchen. The table was covered with a tablecloth twice the right size. The cloth brushed the floor, and Adam wondered if she’d used a floral printed sheet. The candles were stuck in empty Coke bottles—apparently she hadn’t found real candle-holders—and were positioned on either side of the roses, which she’d arranged in a glass bowl. The effect was surprisingly artful. There were place settings, including wine goblets, in front of the three chairs.
“Jazmine!” Shana exclaimed, hugging her niece. “This is absolutely lovely.”
The nine-year-old blushed at the praise and wiped her hands on her apron. “Uncle Adam helped.”
“Not much,” Adam protested.
“We can start now,” she said with authority. “Please light the candles and pour the champagne. I’m having soda in my glass.”
He bowed slightly. “At your service.”
“Everyone, sit down,” Jazmine ordered when he’d finished. She gestured toward the table. “I have an appetizer.” Following that announcement, she brought out a bowl of dry Cheerios mixed with peanuts, raisins and pretzels.
“Excellent,” Shana said, exchanging a look with Adam. They both struggled to maintain their composure.
“This is only the start,” Jazmine promised, flitting about the kitchen like a parrot on the loose. “I made all our favorites—macaroni and cheese, Tater Tots and salad. Uncle Adam, there’s no tomatoes in your salad and, Aunt Shana, no croutons on yours.”
Shana’s eyes met Adam’s. “She’s paying attention.”
“I’ll say.”
“Plus macaroons for dessert,” Jazmine added proudly.
“Macaroons?” Adam repeated.
Jazmine removed the bowl of Cheerios. “Yes, chocolate macaroons. Those are my favorites, so no complaining.”
It was an odd meal, but Adam had no complaints and neither, apparently, did Shana.
“We’ll do the dishes,” he said when they’d eaten. The champagne had relaxed him and Shana, too, because they lingered over the last glass while Jazmine moved into the living room.
“This really was sweet of her,” Shana whispered.
“Very sweet,” Adam agreed. What happened next, he blamed on the champagne. Before he could question the wisdom of it, he leaned close to Shana, intending to kiss her.
She could’ve stopped him, but didn’t. Instead she shut her eyes and leaned toward him, too. The kiss was every bit as good as their first one. No, it was better, Adam decided. In fact, her kisses could fast become addicti
ve—a risk he’d just have to take. He brought his chair closer to Shana’s and she gripped his shirt collar as they kissed again.
She pulled away sometime later and pressed her forehead against his. It took him a moment to find his focus. He savored having her close, enjoyed her scent and the way she felt. Jazmine might see them, but he didn’t care as long as Shana didn’t—and obviously she didn’t.
“You two need help in there?” Jazmine called from the living room.
Like guilty teenagers, Shana and Adam broke apart. “We’re fine,” Shana answered.
Adam wasn’t so sure that was true.
Sent: July 6
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: My plan is working
Dear Mom,
I cooked dinner all by myself! You know what I like best about Uncle Adam? He doesn’t treat me like a kid. He spent Saturday afternoon with me because Aunt Shana was at the ice-cream parlor and when I told him I was going to cook dinner, he let me. He even went to the store and left me by myself. I don’t need a babysitter anymore.
When he got back, he said Aunt Shana was upset with him for leaving me all alone, but nothing happened. I made macaroni and cheese in the microwave and baked Tater Tots and made a salad. It turned out really good, and guess what?
Uncle Adam and Aunt Shana kissed again, and they didn’t even care that I could see them. I pretended I didn’t, but I really did. They said they wanted to wash the dishes and it took them more than an hour. Miss you bunches and bunches.
Love,
Jazmine
Chapter Fourteen
If Ali had been at home instead of aboard the USS Woodrow Wilson, she would’ve turned to her favorite comfort food: cookie dough. It was that kind of day. Yes, she knew she shouldn’t eat raw eggs. But when she reached this point—of being prepared to scarf down a bowl of unbaked cookies—salmonella seemed the least of her worries. Those ice-cream manufacturers knew what they were doing when they introduced cookie dough as a flavor. That, in her opinion, was the ultimate comfort food.
What had upset Ali, or rather who, was none other than Commander Frank Dillon. After managing fairly successfully to keep him out of her thoughts, he was back—not only in her thoughts, but unfortunately, in sick bay.
Earlier in the day he’d returned with a raging fever and an infection. Infection was the biggest risk with a ruptured appendix, and he hadn’t been spared this complication. Ali was worried when she saw that his temperature was nearly 103 degrees. Furious, she’d asked why he hadn’t come in earlier.
He’d refused to answer, but insisted that all he needed was a shot, and that once she’d given it to him, he could go back to his duties as navigator. When she told him Captain Coleman had ordered antibiotics via IV, he seemed to blame her personally. In his anger and frustration, he’d lashed out at her once again and questioned her competence.
As soon as he was hooked up to the antibiotics, and relatively free of pain, he slept for the remainder of her shift. Before leaving, she’d checked on him, taking his temperature, which had fallen to just over 100 degrees.
She felt both irritated and sad. Irritated that he’d delayed seeking medical attention. And sad because she suspected she might be the reason he’d stayed away. According to his own comments, he wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn’t help wondering if that was because of her wedding ring—and yet how could it be? She’d removed it from her left hand.
Anytime he’d so much as glanced in her direction this afternoon, he’d scowled as if he couldn’t bear to be in the same room. That was ridiculous. Ali hadn’t done anything to deserve this wrath. After all, he was the one who’d sent her an e-mail thanking her for the excellent care. But from the way he regarded her now, anyone might think she’d attempted to amputate his leg while he wasn’t looking. She tried not to dwell on the things he’d said to her, either today or during his first hospitalization, but she couldn’t help that her feelings were hurt. She’d misread the situation and now he was back and not happy about it, either.
Frank didn’t understand or recognize how serious this infection was. With a fever that high, he must’ve been terribly sick. Damn, he should never have waited this long!
Sent: July 7
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: It’s cookie time!!
Dear Shana,
I’m tired and I want to come home. I sound like a crybaby but I don’t care. The day has been long and awful, and if I was home right now I’d have the mixer going, blending sugar and flour and eggs with oatmeal and raisins. Yup, it’s one of those days.
How are things with Jazmine? I need some news to cheer me up. Got anything wonderful to tell me? How’s Adam? Any news about the transfer?
Love,
Alison
It wasn’t long before she received a reply.
Sent: July 9
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Fireworks and all
Dear Alison,
My goodness, what’s happening? I haven’t heard you sound so down in ages. When you start talking about cookie dough, I know there’s got to be a man involved. I figure this must have something to do with that commander you mentioned. I thought you said you wouldn’t be seeing him again. But apparently you have and it didn’t go well. Tell all!
Jazmine is fabulous, but the truth is, I had a miserable day myself. I worked from dawn to dusk, and financially it was my best business day ever, so I should be happy, right? I wasn’t. I wanted to be with Jazmine and Adam, who were off at a community fair while I was stuck at the ice-cream parlor.
I can’t even begin to tell you how much work is involved in owning a business like this. Catherine was the only employee willing to work this weekend and thankfully, her husband came in to lend a hand. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise. I really hated not being with Adam and Jazmine. They must’ve known it, because they showed up to collect me the minute I closed for the night. I didn’t have time to change my clothes or anything. Adam drove to a hilltop where we had a picnic, even though it was almost dark. Adam had bought deli sandwiches and salads. By the time we arrived home, it was after eleven. I’m afraid I was exhausted and not much fun. Sometimes I wonder if buying this business was the wisest choice, but it’s too late to think about that now.
Write soon.
Love,
Shana
Alison read her sister’s e-mail and tried to translate the message between the lines. Like Alison, Shana was tired. According to Jazmine, she worked long hours, starting early in the morning when she mixed the pizza dough and set it out to rise. She usually stayed until closing, which meant she often wasn’t home until after nine. Thankfully her sister had had the wherewithal to hire Catherine, who’d quickly become indispensable. Her other employees, mostly high-school kids, didn’t seem all that reliable, but at least she had them.
Adam was spending a lot of time with Jazmine, and Alison knew very well that her daughter wasn’t the only draw. He and Shana were definitely getting along, and that thrilled her. But if Adam was transferred to Hawaii, that might be the end of their relationship. Still, Alison couldn’t worry about that when she had troubles of her own.
Fortunately, she had Lieutenant Rowland to talk to. He was waiting for her when she reported for duty the next afternoon.
“How’s the beast doing?” she asked in a stage whisper. Compared to the commander, their other patients were downright jovial.
Jordan’s responding grimace answered her question. “Same. Bad-tempered as ever.”
“Oh, great.”
Rowland rolled his eyes. “He’s certainly got a burr under his saddle—and I think I know why.”
Alison did, too. “He hates being sick.” No one enjoyed it, but the commander was worse than most. He resented every minute away from his dut
y station. What he didn’t realize was that he wouldn’t be released anytime soon. She wasn’t going to be the one to tell him, either.
“His problem,” Rowland said with an air of superiority, “appears to be you.”
“Me?” she protested, flustered that Frank’s ranting from the day before had obviously continued.
“He asked me to keep you away from him.”
Alison’s face burned with mortification. “What did you tell him?” she asked, her voice indignant despite her efforts.
Rowland’s smile lacked humor. “That the United States Navy was fortunate to have you, and if he has a problem he should take it up with Captain Coleman.”
“Thank you,” she said, and swallowed a painful knot of gratitude.
“The mighty commander didn’t have anything to say after that.”
“Good.” Her anger simmering just below the surface, Alison squared her shoulders. “I think it’s time I faced the beast on my own.”
Rowland’s dark eyes flared. “I don’t know if I’d advise that.”
Alison was past accepting her friend’s advice. If Frank Dillon had even a clue what she was thinking, she’d likely be up for court-martial.
Before common sense and what remained of her Navy career could stop her, she tore back the curtain to his cubicle and confronted the commander. Although he appeared to be sleeping, he must have heard her because his eyes fluttered open.
“I understand you requested not to be under my care.”
He blinked, and Alison was shocked to see that he refused to look at her. “You heard right.”
“That’s fine with me, Commander. As far as I’m concerned, you’re cantankerous and impatient and rude and…and more.”
Barely controlled anger showed in the tight set of his mouth. No one with any desire to advance in the Navy spoke to a senior officer the way Alison just had.
Navy Husband Page 12