those suddenly cold eyes told her that no apology would be welcome. So she opted for a simple smile and a quick exit. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Chapter Six
11:47 p.m. John read the time on the table beside his bed and tried to remember the last time he’d gone this long without checking a clock or watch and wondering when something would end—like lying in a burning vehicle and listening to his comrades dying, pushing himself to the limits during a painful physical-therapy session, or working side by side with Meghan Taylor and pretending he didn’t care.
But tonight he hadn’t thought about time. He hadn’t thought about Meghan. He hadn’t really thought much about the war he’d left behind. There’d been no past to grieve or regret, no future to worry about. For a few hours tonight, he’d simply lived in the moment.
Dinner with the Wheelers had been surprisingly relaxing and fun and…distracting. Maggie was true to her word, taking only a few minutes to change and come back. She’d washed away the smudges of mascara that had shadowed the freckles beneath her eyes. And even though she hadn’t released her hair from that practical bun she liked to wear, it was nice to see her in civvies and discover that the curvy hips and butt down below were balanced with equally sweet curves on top.
Not that he’d complimented her or flirted. He’d just noticed. A lot. He’d noticed the way she’d loaded up her corn bread with honey, and then licked the sweet golden mess off her fingers. She was genuinely pretty and unpretentious and crazy about her son.
And yeah, maybe his ego had taken a few strokes when he’d caught a soft smile or curious glance directed his way. But he wasn’t looking for a relationship or date, or even the chance to exercise some of the other parts of his body that hadn’t seen any action since the roadside bomb outside that Afghan village. He didn’t need to be with anyone until he was sure his body could keep up with his brain, and he was certain he could keep the demons that sometimes still haunted him back in the past where they belonged.
Besides, Travis Wheeler had demanded the bulk of his attention at the dinner table. The boy had thoroughly tested John’s knowledge of all things baseball, and only the promise of spending some time in the batting cage with him before his game on Thursday night had finally been enough to let John turn the dinner conversation to something other than sports.
Not that Maggie let the discussion stray to anything deeper than the jovial incompetence of their building super. Joe Standage was as friendly and helpful as they came, but it had already been a comedy of errors when it came to fixing things around here. The elderly lady whose apartment sat kitty-corner from John’s had complained about a leaky toilet and wound up having to replace her entire bathroom floor after a visit from Joe. Then there was the stuck elevator, and the phones that were still out of order. He’d gone down to the basement himself to inspect the leads running through the building. Judging by the sloppy work he’d seen, the super was lucky that his power saw had cut through a telephone line instead of one carrying electricity to the seventh floor. Could the guy in charge of building maintenance really make so many mistakes? Or was someone deliberately sabotaging things on the seventh floor, leaving Joe to clean up afterward?
John had learned several other things about the tenants on the seventh floor. Maggie had warned him to expect gifts of baked good from Miss Applebaum. And that the Wongs would probably not come out of their apartment to interact with him, but that they would somehow know everything that was going on in the building anyway. Bernie Cutlass talked like a grouch, but he’d been a heck of a lot friendlier before his wife of fifty-some years had passed away last year.
John had learned that Travis loved science and math but thought reading was for
Chapter Six
11:47 p.m. John read the time on the table beside his bed and tried to remember the last time he’d gone this long without checking a clock or watch and wondering when something would end—like lying in a burning vehicle and listening to his comrades dying, pushing himself to the limits during a painful physical-therapy session, or working side by side with Meghan Taylor and pretending he didn’t care.
But tonight he hadn’t thought about time. He hadn’t thought about Meghan. He hadn’t really thought much about the war he’d left behind. There’d been no past to grieve or regret, no future to worry about. For a few hours tonight, he’d simply lived in the moment.
Dinner with the Wheelers had been surprisingly relaxing and fun and…distracting. Maggie was true to her word, taking only a few minutes to change and come back. She’d washed away the smudges of mascara that had shadowed the freckles beneath her eyes. And even though she hadn’t released her hair from that practical bun she liked to wear, it was nice to see her in civvies and discover that the curvy hips and butt down below were balanced with equally sweet curves on top.
Not that he’d complimented her or flirted. He’d just noticed. A lot. He’d noticed the way she’d loaded up her corn bread with honey, and then licked the sweet golden mess off her fingers. She was genuinely pretty and unpretentious and crazy about her son.
And yeah, maybe his ego had taken a few strokes when he’d caught a soft smile or curious glance directed his way. But he wasn’t looking for a relationship or date, or even the chance to exercise some of the other parts of his body that hadn’t seen any action since the roadside bomb outside that Afghan village. He didn’t need to be with anyone until he was sure his body could keep up with his brain, and he was certain he could keep the demons that sometimes still haunted him back in the past where they belonged.
Besides, Travis Wheeler had demanded the bulk of his attention at the dinner table. The boy had thoroughly tested John’s knowledge of all things baseball, and only the promise of spending some time in the batting cage with him before his game on Thursday night had finally been enough to let John turn the dinner conversation to something other than sports.
Not that Maggie let the discussion stray to anything deeper than the jovial incompetence of their building super. Joe Standage was as friendly and helpful as they came, but it had already been a comedy of errors when it came to fixing things around here. The elderly lady whose apartment sat kitty-corner from John’s had complained about a leaky toilet and wound up having to replace her entire bathroom floor after a visit from Joe. Then there was the stuck elevator, and the phones that were still out of order. He’d gone down to the basement himself to inspect the leads running through the building. Judging by the sloppy work he’d seen, the super was lucky that his power saw had cut through a telephone line instead of one carrying electricity to the seventh floor. Could the guy in charge of building maintenance really make so many mistakes? Or was someone deliberately sabotaging things on the seventh floor, leaving Joe to clean up afterward?
John had learned several other things about the tenants on the seventh floor. Maggie had warned him to expect gifts of baked good from Miss Applebaum. And that the Wongs would probably not come out of their apartment to interact with him, but that they would somehow know everything that was going on in the building anyway. Bernie Cutlass talked like a grouch, but he’d been a heck of a lot friendlier before his wife of fifty-some years had passed away last year.
John had learned that Travis loved science and math but thought reading was for
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