Falling for Her Soldier (13 page)

Chapter Twelve

Hunter’s apartment wasn’t a huge surprise. Typical single guy digs. Maybe a little cleaner than she was used to, but that was military mentality for you.

“So, this is it,” he said, walking farther into the room, turning on lights as he passed. The floor plan was one-bedroom-apartment basic: the kitchen and living room were one large space, three opened doors, probably closet, bathroom, bedroom.

She tried not to fixate about which door led to his room. “Nice,” she said. “I like how your TV doesn’t take up the
entire
wall.”

“I guess it’s pretty big. It was a gift.”

“Grateful date?”

Hunter rolled his eyes at her. “Not funny, Ellie.”

She snickered and looked around the room. Huh. It was also obvious he was a single soldier who’d been deployed. Not many personal effects. A few pictures in frames, probably his family, and probably put there by his family. Most of the pictures in Sam’s apartment were put there by Ellie herself.

“Didn’t you say you played high school football?”

“Yeah,” Hunter answered, more firmly than before when she’d brought up the subject.

“No trophies?”

He seemed to mull this over for a second. “I have trophies, but they’re in my bedroom.” He shot her a meaningful look. “You are not going in there unless you’re invited.” He folded his arms, looking all tough. “And you’re
not
invited.”

“Fair enough,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

“So?” They smiled at each other, and Ellie couldn’t help feeling the desire to see those football trophies. To keep busy, she picked up a framed picture of an older couple, assuming it was his parents. “You and Sam are lucky to have family close by,” she said.

“My sister never lets me forget that,” he said, chuckling afterward. “Yes,” his voice turned warm and somber, “I feel very lucky.”

“Nice for us that you’ll be stationed here another year.”

“I might not be,” Hunter said. “My orders are different from the rest of the unit. At least, that’s what my commander told me the day I got back from Afghanistan. But I’m still waiting for the new orders.”

Ellie couldn’t help feeling a little deflated, and then more than a little anxious, knowing her days with Hunter might be numbered. “Oh. Well, that’s the military for ya, right?” she said, trying to sound breezy.

He tilted his head. “You’re pretty understanding.”

She looked down at her hands, twisting the hairband around her wrist. “It’s not like it’s a shock that military people sometimes have to move with short notice. It’s a way of life.” She sighed and glanced at Hunter. “Even though it really kind of sucks right now.”

Hunter exhaled a laugh. “It does kind of suck right now.” He leaned against the back of the couch, at ease. “So, you wanted to talk,” he said, his gaze dipping to the floor for a moment, his posture suddenly not so at ease. “I’m ready”—he took in a breath then exhaled—“if you are. Should we sit?” He motioned to the couch.

Ellie hesitated, not wanting to get into it yet. Not about the e-mails, or about Charlie, or about her man-less year. Couldn’t they just hang out like two normal people before she made everything weird?

“You promised to feed me. Can we eat first?”

Hunter’s gaze dropped to the floor again, and when he looked up, he appeared almost more relieved than she felt. “Of course.” He scratched his head then pushed off the couch. “I haven’t been to the store in a while.” He strolled to the fridge and pulled open the door. “May I interest you in two-day-old Chinese takeout? Or protein shakes? Or…” He pulled out a square Tupperware container and peeled back the lid. “Some lasagna, courtesy of either Tess or Mac. They both know where my spare key is hidden and are known to drop in and leave food.”

She tried not to flinch at the name “Mac.” If he said they were just friends, she had to believe him. After all, if anything were going to happen with Hunter after her twenty-two-more-days probation was over, she would have to trust him. She wanted to trust him. Actually, it was kind of miraculous how much she wanted to trust him, after not trusting anyone for so long.

“It’s like having your own personal maid service,” she offered breezily.

“They might drop off a meal or two, but they refuse to clean.”

“Tough life.” She tilted her head. “So, you invited me for dinner, but you have no food.” She motioned at the pantry. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Be my guest.”

She pulled it open and examined the contents. Hmm. Not much. She was not going to eat mac ’n’ cheese from a box, and she didn’t even know what flavor pink ramen noodles were supposed to be.

“Do you have vegetable oil?” she asked. Hunter nodded. “Any eggs?”

“Two dozen, actually,” he reported. “Protein.”

Her gaze moved to his bicep for a second, admiring the effects of said protein. “We only need one egg,” she said and pulled out a box of Bisquick. “Pancakes, it is. Or do you have a waffle iron?”

“I think so.” He reached under the counter, dragging out an ancient-looking waffle iron. “When my parents moved, I inherited some pretty random things. I believe this was on their wedding registry. It weighs about twenty pounds.” The thing made a loud
clunk
when he dropped it on the counter.

“It’s probably better quality than anything you can buy today. Plug it in; let’s see.” She stood at Hunter’s side while he plugged in the thick black cord. A red light came on, and they both leaned their elbows on the counter, staring at it fixedly.

“What are we doing?” Hunter asked a few seconds later.

“We’re waiting to see how hot it gets.”

He knocked his shoulder against hers. “Are you hitting on me?”

“In your dreams.” She glanced at his grinning mouth, wondering if he was thinking what she was…that they were alone in his house and that kiss at the studio had ended way too soon and she really, really wanted to see those football trophies. Her neck and face felt hot, so she pushed back her hair, noticing Hunter’s eyes move to her neck.

The waffle iron made a loud clicking sound, sidetracking her thoughts in the nick of time. She hovered her hand over the top of the appliance. “I feel some heat,” she said, and opened the top. “Oh, yeah, we’re raging hot.”

“You’re killing me, Eleanor.”

She shook her head, though thoroughly enjoying his flirts. It gave her hope that maybe the conversation she’d been putting off would go better than she thought. “Grab an egg and oil, a mixing bowl, and a measuring cup, any size.”

He laid out all the requested items on the counter, but when Ellie went to start the batter, he caught her wrist. “I do know how to make waffles,” he said, sliding his thumb across the inside of her wrist before letting go.

“Oh, well…” She pointed to the counter. “It’s your kitchen.”

Hunter rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Stand back, baby.”

She tried not to feel too swoony whenever his shoulder swept by or pressed against hers for longer than necessary. His touch was welcome, but each one made her nervous all over again about what she was going to say when they were through with dinner. If she did manage to make her feelings coherent, how would he take it?

“Another hidden talent?” she asked as he poured batter into the steaming iron.

“Let’s see how the first one turns out.” It turned out fine—pretty good, in fact. He pulled it off the griddle with a fork and laid it on a plate. “Butter’s in the fridge, but I’m not sure if there’s syrup.”

“I saw brown sugar in the pantry,” Ellie said, needing to make herself busy. “That stuff never goes bad. I’ll make the syrup; you handle the waffles.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter said, then offered a quick salute.

The syrup was way easier than the waffles. Just dump a cup of brown sugar in a saucepan, add water, and walk away. Two minutes later, it was ready.

“Yours,” Hunter said, handing her a plate piled high.

“Thank you.” She sat at the table and watched Hunter as he drizzled syrup over his waffles, pulling an overly skeptical face. Then she watched the loaded fork move to his sexy mouth.

After one bite, his eyes brightened. “Mmm.”

“Right?” she said, cutting off her own piece. “Way better than anything from a bottle.”

“I’ll say.” He took another bite, chewing slowly, smiling across the table at her.

Small talk accompanied their meal. Ellie was still trying to put together what she was going to say. Would he care if she couldn’t officially date for another twenty-two days? Or do any of the things that accompanied dating—even though she’d already kind of shattered that rule. Would he refuse to date her because Sam told him she was off limits? Would he flip out that—until a few days ago—she was hung up on Staff Sergeant Charlie Johansson? And lastly…did he know how soon he would be PCS-ing to another post?

After dinner, Hunter washed and Ellie dried. While they’d been eating, his phone rang five different times until he finally silenced the ringer. He didn’t take any of the calls, barely consulted the caller ID.

“How long have you been teaching ballet?” he asked as he rinsed a glass.

“I took my first assistant job a few months after my injury,” she said. “I was still doing physical therapy, but my doctor said I could handle a beginner’s class.” She shrugged. “I kind of fell in love with it.”

“Did
you
start that young? As young as the kids you teach?”

“Younger. I took my first baby steps on that floor. First dance steps, too.”

He shut off the water and turned to her. “That’s where you took lessons? And now it’s where you teach?”

Ellie stared down into the bubbly sink, her body feeling unexpectedly weary. “It was my mother’s studio.”

“Anastasia?” Hunter asked after a beat.

“Stacy…that was her name. She’d always planned on me taking over when I finished college, but I never wanted to run a business. I got a job with a dance company instead, so I kept working. Then, you know”—she displayed her knee—“so that ended.” When she shifted her weight, she felt her needy knee give just a little—not the happy, nervous wobble Hunter made her feel, but a haunting reminder of the past.

Noticing the infinitesimal teeter, Hunter’s hand shot out to steady her. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Mom and I ran the studio together. Then Jane came on full time after she died.”

“Ellie.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze, maybe detecting the blueness of her mood. “I’m so sorry.”

She swallowed, forcing down all those old feelings of sadness. “I guess I got a little obsessive about the studio after that,” she said. “Jane calls me a workaholic. I think maybe she’s right. These last few days have been good for me, forcing me out of the studio, out of my head.”

When Hunter gave her arm another squeeze, her chest felt even heavier. Not just from missing her mother or thinking about her knee, but Hunter being near made everything kind of slow down and come together, like the close step of the tango.

“Ya know, I think that might be why saving the WS is so important to me,” she added.

Hunter removed his hand. “What do you mean?”

“I can relate to them—the injured service members…in a way. I understand what they need, what they’re going through. Some wounds heal quickly; some take a lot longer. My knee, for example.” She bent it once then straightened it. “I was out for almost a year, but the emotional injury…I don’t think that’s completely healed. I lost my career. It was a life-changing crisis.” She blinked, her eyelids feeling dry and gummy. “A bunch of physical therapy does nothing to fix how resentful I can still feel about what happened. I needed someone to talk to about it back then; I probably still do.” After she said the words out loud, she knew how true they were. “The WS,” she continued, “it’s like a safe zone for those people who need the groups and the counseling. So, yeah, I understand how important it is because I know what it’s like to feel…I don’t know…haunted. Of course PTSD is a whole other level, but I can empathize.”

Hunter was staring at her, not even blinking. It looked like
he
was the one who was haunted. “Ellie,” he said, rubbing his palm over his chest like he was soothing an ache. “What you said…your words—”

They both flinched when Hunter’s cell on the counter vibrated with a new call. “You’re certainly popular.” Ellie pointed her chin toward his phone.

“Whoever it is can wait,” he said, not moving his eyes from her. “We’re talking.”

“What if it’s important?”

His hand ran up her arm, leaving a trail of tingles. “It’s not as important as this.”

She swallowed and felt the desire to snuggle into his chest, to ease whatever it was that had momentarily clouded his mood. Surely that would lift a few of her clouds, as well. He squeezed her shoulder, reminding her of other benefits of snuggling; further reminding her of the real conversation they hadn’t had.

“Um…you mentioned a duck pond,” she said, trying to clear her head. “Is it close by?”

He nodded, still watching her with those gorgeous blue eyes. “My place backs up to a golf course,” he said, sliding his hand from her shoulder down to her hand. “Take a walk?”

…

It was a short walk to the golf course, just on the other side of the parking lot. The driving range was lit up like Times Square, but the rest of the course was dim and deserted, brightened by only a few floodlights.

By suggesting the walk, Charlie knew he was stalling. What could he say? He was selfish. He didn’t want it to end. Not that it would be the end immediately—they still had the fund-raiser in a few days. They’d worked hard; he would
not
bail on that. Besides, he was finally starting to understand what went on at the WS.