Page 6 of Adoring Delaney

Twenty-five and going on my first date as an adult. A fact I’m sure my father would appreciate. He’d always told my sisters and me we could date when we were twenty-five. Of course, my mom had stepped in and told him he was crazy, and we’d been allowed to go out in high school. Though there were rules, an earlier than all my friends’ curfew, and he’d demanded he met any boy we’d planned on seeing. I followed these rules because they were easy. I had Carter, therefore after the two guys I’d gone to the movies with did nothing for me, I’d stopped. My sisters however, gave my poor dad gray hair with their antics. Most especially Quinn, and at twenty-three she was still driving Jasper Walker bat-shit crazy.

“Delaney,” Steve greeted. “You look great.”

“Hi, Steve, so do you.”

“We have a few minutes before our table’s ready. Would you like to go to the bar and get a drink?”

Yes. Alcohol is what I need.

“Perfect.” I smiled and Steve tilted his head studying me.

“You look even more beautiful when you smile.”

I fought to keep my grin in place and mumbled my thanks. It was a nice thing to say, even if it reminded me I didn’t have much to smile about these days, therefore I rarely did.

Steve guided us through the crush of patrons, found us two seats, and pulled mine out. We’d barely sat down when a gorgeous bartender appeared. After she’d introduced herself, Steve allowed me to order my beer first before he ordered his.

His eyes hadn’t lingered on the woman, he hadn’t even given her a second glance. Which was surprising, because she was stunning. I had all of his attention and that was nice.

“Thank God you ordered a beer,” Steve started. “I thought I’d have to follow your lead and order some sort of sophisticated drink I wouldn’t enjoy.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To impress you.”

Well, that was honest.

A tall, slender woman had come up and was climbing onto the stool next to me, her oversized purse hitting my shoulder. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“No problem,” I told her and turned back to Steve.

“Impress me?” I asked, going back to my original conversation.

“It cannot be lost on you that I’m into you. I’ve asked you out a dozen times since you started working at Parkside.”

He had. Maybe more than a dozen. To dinner, to the movies, to a street fair, down to Savannah when there’d been a jazz festival. Loads of times he’d asked and I’d politely declined.

I didn’t know what to say to that so I was silent, but he continued, “I didn’t say that to make you uncomfortable. I guess I just want you to know I’m happy you finally accepted.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” I lied. Then I struggled to find something to ask him to steer us into something light. The problem was I didn’t know anything about Steve. “So, what made you decide to teach history?”

Could I be more generic? I really didn’t know how to do this.

His smile was knowing when he’d graciously allowed the change of subject and answered. “My dad was a field historian in the Army. He loved everything about world history, but specialized in military. All the great battles were discussed practically nightly. At a young age I caught the bug, and started my own obsession.”

“So your dad was in the Army?” I asked.

“Yeah. After college he served active duty for twelve years then he moved to the Military History Detachment as a reservist, before he started teaching at West Point.”

“Wow. My dad was in the Army, too.”

“Really? What was his MOS?”

“Logistics.”

The practiced answer was like second nature. Dad hadn’t discussed his job with us very often, but when Quinn, Hadley, Adalynn, and I had been old enough, he’d told us he didn’t really work in a logistical unit. He was Army Special Forces. Something that we were never to discuss with anyone outside of our extended family. My uncles—not of blood, but friendship: Lenox, Levi, and Nolan—all served with my dad.

Thankfully before Steve could ask me anymore about my dad’s service, the pager the hostess had given him vibrated, and we grabbed our drinks and made our way to the table.

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