Page 4 of Sloane

I had swooned at the photos of him in board shorts without a shirt at a pool party—his six pack on full display as well as his muscular arms with the tribal tattoos and Marine Corp insignia.

The shots of him in his uniform had made my heart skip a beat. He looked sexy and in-charge dressed in the camouflage but damn if seeing him in his dress blues didn’t do things to my insides. The man could fill out a uniform.

But I loved his smile the most. It was as if it lit up his whole face. And the way it seemed to reach his beautiful bright blue eyes had made me melt as I’d traced his image over my phone screen.

I was kidding myself if I thought I had a chance with him.

Tammy let out a long sigh. “Ash, you were crushing on him long before you even knew what he looked like.”

“So?”

“So, would it have mattered if he had a birthmark when you finally saw a picture of him?”

“No, of course not.”

“So, why do you think it would matter to him?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just nervous. He’s going to be here in three weeks.”

My friend studied me for a beat before asking, “How long have you been a part of Military Angels?”

“Um,” I stalled as I did the mental math in my head. “Four years. When I got my first job out of college and could finally afford to do it.”

“And how many service members have you written to over the years?”

“I’m not sure? Maybe eight?”

“But this is the first one you’ve ever talked about, and as far as I know, the only one you’re going to meet. What’s so special about him?”

“I don’t know…” I stopped, regrouped, and began again. “Okay, for starters, he wrote back—they don’t all do that. And the ones who did, kept things superficial—which was fine. But there was just something about his letters; how honest he was in them. And, we have a lot in common. It’s silly, I know. I probably read way too much into it when he wrote that he wanted me to meet him at the airport and take me out for my birthday.”

“I don’t think you read too much into it. Isn’t he making a special trip just to see you?”

“No, he’s stationed at Camp Pendleton.”

“He’s from California?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you two could really date when he returns for good. Like, this really could be a possibility.”

“No,” I replied without thinking, then closed my eyes before grumbling, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Maybe he just wants to thank me for writing him and sending him socks and beef jerky.”

But our correspondence had been more than that, and it hadn’t all been one-sided. After he’d told me how much he looked forward to receiving my letters, I’d written more than once a week, never thinking he’d do the same.

But he did.

He’d poured his heart out to me, talked about his fears, his goals, his hopes for the future when he returned. He’d told me about his family, his emotional hang-ups, why he’d never gotten serious about a woman before. Hell, I even knew about his golden retriever, Tank.

And he’d written, I can’t wait to meet you and wrap my arms around you in a big hug (maybe kiss you, too, if that’s okay?) You have been my beacon, and some days it’s the mere anticipation of meeting you that keeps me going.

And I’d been just as forthcoming in my correspondence, while always still trying to remain upbeat. I’d wanted my letters to bring a smile to his face.

And now he was coming home for Thanksgiving, and we were meeting in person. Except, he’d asked me to meet him before he’d even known what I looked like.

There was no way he would have done that if he’d seen a picture of me first.

I’d never dreaded a holiday more.

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