Keeping It: A Navy SEAL meets Virgin Romance

by Rachel Robinson

  “She’s right,” I say to Caroline. “You are a gem.” Her cheeks flush and she looks down to her lap again.

  Mrs. May, laughs, pleased I’m siding with her. “You are such a flatterer,” Caroline mutters. Then she asks me for details about the NYC trip. I tell her and the rest of the table as much as I know, and can. “Can we go to Central Park?” she asks

  I nod. “There’s a deli next to the park that I go to anytime I’m in town. You’ll love it,” I say.

  “When you get back hurricane season starts,” Mr. May says, reminding her of her airport duties. That peaks her interest and it isn’t long before she’s lost in conversation about storms and airplanes and weather. Sort of like my grandparents who like to banter about the chance of rain on a Wednesday afternoon. While they talk, I help Mrs. May clear the table, stacking as many dishes as possible before entering the kitchen behind her.

  “You’re a natural,” she jokes, taking the top plate that has a glass balancing on it. “If you need a waiting job. I know where you can find one.”

  I grin, and I see her face change, and I know whatever she has to say next isn’t something she relishes talking about. “I’m afraid I can’t be employed outside of the Navy, ma’am.”

  “That’s a shame,” she says, eyes downcast into the sink filled with soapy water. “What are your plans for the bed and breakfast?” she asks, moving a sponge against a plate.

  There it is. The foreigner encroaching upon local land. “That’s an awful big house for just…you,” she adds, looking at me square on.

  Telling her I had plans to tear it down and build a single-family home seems like a bad idea, so I go with the truth. “Well I’m just going to fix it up first, Ma’am. It needs a lot of work. I haven’t really thought much past that. The time I spend with it will give me some indication of what I want to do with it.”

  “That’s a big purchase to not have firm plans,” she exclaims.

  I swallow hard. “It was a shame it was sitting there empty, don’t you agree? Someone had to buy it. Why not me?”

  “Are you going to flip it? Fix it up and sell it?” Now her question makes even more sense.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m sticking around here,” I say. I tell her that I put the offer on the property when I first arrived—that I knew I could make it brighter and more beautiful than it has been in the past. “The house is just a house. Bronze Bay is my home now. This is just my second hand slice of paradise.”

  Her smile seems genuine. “She’s plum crazy about you, son. I hope that you will stick around. The men around here don’t understand her. I’ve always been a little proud about that. Thinking maybe she would move away one day and find her match elsewhere. Being tied to a small town has both its ups and downs.” She places the plate into the drying rack and starts washing another. “I don’t want to frighten you off or anything. Don’t think that.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “It takes a lot to scare me off,” I reply. “Have any photo albums of Caroline as a teenager?” I joke.

  She laughs, and Caroline clears her throat from behind me. I spin to meet her harried gaze. “What are you guys talking about? Only good things hopefully,” she says, grabbing me around the waist. “Daddy thinks it’s going to be a bad season this year,” she adds.

  “Don’t change the subject. We were talking about scaring me off,” I tell her, setting my big hands over hers.

  Caroline’s mother looks on fondly and I try to keep my dick in check. It has no clue we’re in her parent’s house. “I wasn’t awful looking as a teenager,” she cries. “Let me show you something cooler.” She pulls on my arm and I follow her to a window next to a smaller table inside the kitchen.

  “The hill,” I say, nodding toward the steep decline.

  “The famous hill,” Caroline chimes in, releasing me a touch.

  She points down the hill and through a copse of trees. “My hangar,” she says. You can’t see her parents’ house from her hangar, but you can definitely see her house from here. It’s the angle. The distance between the two is more than you’d guess.

  “Because the property is close to the airfield with planes taking off and landing they got an amazing deal on the house and all of this land.” It looks like they own half of this tiny city from where I’m standing.

  “While this is a nice view and all,” I whisper into her ear. “I’d really like to be looking out of your window right now.” I have one arm wrapped around her waist—a heavy weight showing her how much I want to be on her in every way possible. “Except without clothes on,” I add, so softly I wonder if she’s heard me. Telltale pink cheeks tell me her truth.

  “Dessert first?” she squeaks, turning to glance at her parents. Mr. May is drying dishes and Mrs. May is prattling on about the NYC trip while she tops a pie with whipped cream. The fact that they have a dishwasher, but wash dishes together tells me something about them as people.

  If you pay attention you can know someone without speaking a word. Part of my training as a SEAL is reading people’s body language and expressions. The phrase actions speak louder than words was never more true than when I discovered how easily people can be deciphered. It’s when my heart gets mixed in that my radar is fucked. Caroline confounds me constantly and profusely, yet I want to unravel her one thread at a time.

  Swallowing hard, I reply, “As long as you’re on the menu for second dessert.” My chest squeezes a little, knowing I’m finally going to be having a piece of her I’ve never had before.

  “Don’t mind my mom about that commitment stuff. She doesn’t know that we’re going slow,” she says, facing the window once again, trying her best to brush off my come on. “Don’t let her scare you. Even if you say you aren’t, I don’t see how it wouldn’t.” Licking her bottom lip, she chances a quick glance up at my face.

  “Caroline,” I say her name like a curse word and a scold at the same time. Both of her parents turn to look.

  “Pie?” Mrs. May says, a chipper, hopeful smile on her face.

  “Yes, of course, mama. We’ll be right in.”

  May grabs a newspaper and vanishes into the dining room after his wife. Taking her by her elbows, I spin her toward me. “Do you honestly think I’m afraid of committing to you?” I ask, eyes narrowed.

  She shrugs, both shoulders. “It wouldn’t surprise me. Isn’t that what men typically do these days? Have problems with staying with one girl. With the exception of the few good ones, most of the guys I know are like Whit.”

  “Whit is an idiot,” I return. “He’s also an asshole.”

  She grins, pulling her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger. “Sort of,” she replies.

  “Are you defending him,” I ask, rumbling with mock outrage.

  She smiles wider. “What if I am?”

  “Then I’ll have to kill him.”

  She drops her lip and looks at me, eyes wide, a horrified grimace transforming her beautiful face. “I’m joking, Caroline. I’m not going to kill him.”

  I have to give her credit for making a valiant attempt at masking her terror.

  “I knew that,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  Glancing at the door to make sure we’re truly alone, I settle my hands on either side of her ribcage and look her straight in her piercing blue eyes. “There’s always a point in life, a moment that stands out as the one. The moment that changes things—forces you to realize that despite what you want, the world is giving you something else. I wanted the airport. Yes,” I admit, pulling her closer. Lowering my voice even further, I say, “Then I danced with you in front of your window. The moonlight. Your voice when you asked what I would do if you took off your dress. The way I walked away. That was a moment when I realized I could thrive within the parameters of restraint. Because I want you. All of you. For as long as you’re willing to offer yourself to me.”

  She breathes out deeply, alternating her gaze between my eyes and lips.

  “We can define the word
commitment if you want, but to me? That’s fucking commitment.” I shake my head. “I don’t want anyone else. There isn’t anyone else for me.”

  “Pie is getting cold,” May bellows from the other room. Caroline looks like she’s about to reply, but then thinks better of it.

  Taking me by the arm, she holds my hand. “Thank you for saying that,” Caroline says as we take our seat and dig into the pie. Part of me wonders if she thinks I’m saying it to say it, that I don’t truly mean what I’ve said. The fact I want in her pants so badly can’t lend to my advantage. What would I say at this point if it meant I could fuck her in to next week? The answer comes quickly: anything.

  Escaping work conversation was easy before, but now they’re asking more specific questions about the attacks and it’s hard to share stories without getting too graphic or striking a nerve. Everyone has a story about what they were doing when the terror attacks rocked our world, and fundamentally changed America. I was already a SEAL and if I’m being honest, we pray for work, action, a place to showcase our skills. That being said, no one wanted something so severe and life altering to happen. Caroline tells the story about how she was in the diner, serving at the counter when the television in the corner started replaying scenes of explosions and destruction in different cities across America and around the world. In her initial confusion, she dropped a steak knife and was cut. She moves the hem of her dress up more than I am comfortable with at the moment and shows the thin, red scar from the cut.

  Mr. May was at the airport when he got a call from his wife who was having lunch with a friend two towns over. It helps that the attack connects us all even if it’s in a terrifying way. It happened. We can’t undo it so we move forward. Together. More unified as a country than we’ve ever been.

  Caroline cuts off the conversation when Mr. May asks about what type of missions I’ve been on. She looks at me curiously, as if she really wants to know the answer, but in the end isn’t ready to hear it. The only people I talk about this stuff with are my brothers and my father after he’s had a few too many beers. Our relationship was strengthened through our patriotism, and the bond reinforced by our commitment to serve our nation in good times and in bad.

  Instead of waxing poetic about war, I tell them a story from my father’s glory days and that appeases them.

  “We have to get down the hill,” Caroline blurts during a lull in conversation. Standing, she clears our pie plates and hugs her mother.

  May stands, wobbles a little because he’s downed another Budweiser, and goes to shake my hand. “I’m proud to have you dating my daughter,” he says. “The airport and the skydiving aside, I’m glad you’re going to take care of my sweet Caroline.” His jaw ticks.

  Swallowing hard, I made my departure with the weight of expectation weighing on my mind. We rode here on our bikes, and now that the sun has set, Caroline leads because she has one of those weird lights beaming on the front of her bicycle.

  I’m left pedaling behind her on a well-worn path leading down to the airport. You can see the road off to the side. The absence of cars doesn’t surprise me anymore, but it does remind me how different my life is now. The trip to N.Y.C. to use my God-given skills is probably a well needed dose of reality—it will remind me of who I am at the very least. Caroline calls back to tell me to watch out for a tree root protruding from the ground, but it’s too late and I hit the damn thing at full speed and tumble off the bike.

  I only stop rolling, because my body slams against a small tree. By that time, Caroline has stopped and is walking her bike back up to me.

  “I told you!” she cries, looking me up and down. “Are you hurt? Your arm is bleeding!” Her voice echoes off the trees. “I knew we should have ridden the road instead,” she muses to herself. “Let me see the cut,” she orders, taking my arm into her hands.

  “Only my pride is wounded,” I sigh. “It’s a scratch.”

  She shakes her head. “This bike is too small for you. You need to look into a bike for a giant or something. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Anytime I see you on the thing it looks like you’re teetering on the edge of disaster.” It’s cute how she’s fawning all over me, so I let her. “Tahoe, you could have killed yourself!”

  “Sunny, you called out the warning about ten seconds too late,” I say, smiling. “You’d be a horrible SEAL.” I lean up to a sitting position and eye my bike. The front wheel is bent. “I might need a new bike though.”

  She laughs. “I called out the warning in plenty of time,” she argues. “You were probably looking at my ass or something instead of paying attention to the trail.”

  Now it’s my turn to cackle. I make a big production of standing and then fake limping over to my bike. “What hurts?” she asks, practically yelling. “You need x-rays, don’t you? It’s because my parents approved of you, isn’t it? You’re sabotaging everything!” It’s one of the few times I’ve seen Caroline joke around.

  My bike leans to one side. “Well, you’re the one that didn’t believe I was committed.” Taking off my shirt, I press it against my bicep to catch the blood before it drips down onto my jeans. Jeans don’t get washed but once a month. I’d hate for a little blood to move that date up. I have standards to uphold.

  Caroline’s gaze drops to my bare midsection. Clearing her throat, she says, “Here’s the thing, I know we are supposed to mess around tonight, but I think we should have a discussion about expectations first.” I pull the shirt off my arm and examine the cut. The bleeding has stopped for the moment.

  “Oh,” I ask, raising one brow. “What with my injury and all?” I joke. “I can assure you this arm is fully functional. I’ve been through worse.” Tossing my shirt over one shoulder, I start rolling my mangled bike down the path.

  She looks away and then down to the ground. “We need to get it cleaned up as soon as we get home.” I like how she says home. Like I belong there as much as she does. I’ve lived in a lot of places, but no place has ever embedded itself deep enough to be considered home; not even the one I built. My friends who have wives and long term girlfriends say it happens when a person becomes home. I didn’t know what they meant until now. Caroline feels like home.

  The outside hangar lights hit our bodies like spotlights and it’s a short distance to park our bikes before we head inside. The first thing she does when she closes the apartment door behind us is go into her bathroom to grab her first aid kit. I sit on the sofa because I know what comes next, and I know not to argue about anything she feels the need to do.

  She clears her throat and dabs the cut with a piece of gauze. The scent of the medical grade cloth makes my heart pound. My mouth waters and I close my eyes, trying to inhale her scent, any scent, other than the cloth. I’m not in another country. I am not in a hospital bed. I am not getting bullet holes tended. No. I’m sitting in Caroline’s house. Deep breaths. Then one more.

  “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head,” Caroline asks, putting a hand on the top of my pec muscle.

  Opening my eyes, I’m met with blatant concern pooling in her clear, see-through soul eyes. This is another of those moments. The urge to lie is there, but if I don’t, it means something. “I didn’t hit my head,” I say, leaning over to peck her lips quickly.

  Caroline nods softly, almost as if she doesn’t believe me. “The scent of the gauze,” I mutter, swallowing down the terror. “It reminds me of other times I’ve been hurt.”

  She takes it away from my body, and puts it behind her back. “You don’t have to hide it,” I say, smiling widely. “I’m okay. You’re the one holding it. You could be stabbing me with a knife right now and I’d be okay.”

  Tentatively, she brings the gauze back up to my arm. “If you’re sure. I’m almost finished cleaning it. Do a lot of things trigger bad memories?” she asks, not meeting my eyes.

  “I don’t know until I stumble upon something that reminds me of something else. The scent of a hospital is pretty awful. Fireworks and
sewage, too.”

  Caroline crinkles her nose, leaning away from me. “We travel in the sewage lines to find targets. One time it took far longer than it should have and evidently my body revolts now,” I explain. She opens a bandage and applies it with the softest touch. “I can’t pump cesspool on a build. That’s a messy job anyways.”

  “You’re all fixed,” Caroline declares. “I’m sorry about the gauze. I wouldn’t have used it if I’d known.”

  “It’s fine. I meant it. I’m not a woman. I don’t say it’s fine when really I’m a bomb of emotional destruction. I’m really fine. Now you know one of my weaknesses.”

  She sighs. “If only that were the case,” she says, wadding up the used medical supplies in her fist. “You are pretty perfect in every single way. So you don’t like the smell of gauze. A lot of people don’t like the scent of hospitals. Tell me something awful, Tyler Holiday. What is your greatest flaw?”

  “Deep questions tonight, huh?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll go first. I live inside my head too much. It keeps me from truly living. I mask it by piloting planes and throwing myself into projects full speed ahead. Because really, how can a woman who flies planes, be scared of everything else?” Caroline says, standing from the sofa. I watch her through narrowed eyes. Her chest rises and falls as she confesses her truths, eyes brimming with tears. “A man like you isn’t scared of anything so it’s hard for me to rationalize what you see in me. My fear is that I’m your project. You’ll fix me and then leave me.” Taking a few steps away from me, she lets her gaze flit to every part of my body.

  I stand, towering over her. “My greatest flaw? That’s what you want?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s what I need,” she amends.

  I look out the large window, setting my hands on my hips. “In a job interview you’d have to say something like, I’m too ambitious, or I am a workaholic. In this instance, I think my flaw is simple,” I say, my voice cracking on the last word. Shrugging, I slip my hands into my pockets, my arm stinging from whatever ointment Caroline smeared on me. She’s rapt, waiting for me to confide in her. “I’m mediocrity’s greatest opponent.”