Page 16 of My Starry Valentine

“I can’t help it,” I say, biting my lip and fighting hard not to sob.

“It’s that bad, huh?”

Sighing, I explain, “Every single one of these marks, these scars bear witness to the pain and violence you endured and overcame. It’s hard for me to look at only because it’s hard to think about what you went through. But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you, and it doesn’t make me see you any differently. If anything, it cements my conclusion that you’re the most impressive man I’ve ever met.”

His eyes narrow. “Now, I know you’re lying.”

My right hand hovers over his hurt cheek, and I register the ambivalence in his eyes for a split-second before he pulls away. “I better check on the pizza. The last thing we want is it burned to a crisp.” He adds darkly, “No pun intended.” I assume it’s a reference to his face.

Ledger searches for the oven mitts before opening the door, releasing a flash of hot air. He pulls the perfectly browned pie out of the oven, setting it on the part of the kitchen counter already lined with a couple of folded towels.

Testily, he barks, “Believe me, I’ve heard every line in the book when it comes to my face, and why I need to count my blessings. Or see the glass as half full instead of half empty. I don’t need a pep talk from a total stranger about why everything’s okay. Because if everything were okay, you wouldn’t weep when you looked at me.” His baby blues glare at me for a long, tense moment before he goes back to bustling around the kitchen, putting the second pizza in the oven.

Growing up with my grandpa makes me realize I can do nothing to help this man in his current mood. Instead, I open pantry doors, searching until I find plates. Next, I rifle through drawers until Ledger asks grumpily, “What are you looking for?”

“Your pizza cutter thingie,” I say, motioning with my hand.

“Third drawer to the left with the spatulas and wooden spoons.”

“Thank you,” I reply, working hard to keep my voice calm and unaffected by the exchange moments earlier. Despite my grandpa’s make-do personality, living with him was no picnic. His mood could fluctuate wildly between depression, self-pity, and anger. I learned young not to take it personally…or put up with it when he went overboard. I’m ready to draw the same line with Ledger.

We eat our pizzas in silence at the small dining table in the kitchen, sipping beers and listening to the howling of the snowstorm. The air feels thick, the night interminable. The tension in the room merely confirms what I should have figured out hours ago. That the real wounds motivating Ledger to hide from the world have nothing to do with his scars and everything to do with an ugly internal struggle I most likely will never understand…or have any say in.

But as we continue to eat in silence, his glances soften, and the corners of his mouth turn up as though he’s offering an olive branch. I can’t help but return the smile, unable to hold a grudge against the handsome, grumpy Marine.

“Moonstruck?” Ledger’s voice slices through my thoughts. He waggles his eyebrow at me, elaborating, “I have it on DVD. Are you a fan of Cher and early Nick Cage?”

“It’s one of my all-time favorites,” I confess, wiping my mouth with my napkin and allowing my shoulders to relax slightly.

“I don’t know about you, but I won’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Even though I spent the day ice climbing. So, yeah, we might as well be sleepless together…which reminds me, I also haveSleepless in Seattle. Do you have a preference?”

I sigh with relief, ready to put the earlier drama behind us and banish the loneliness and unease I feel in this cabin. “Let’s watch both.”

“Deal,” he replies, nodding resolutely. The expression on his face lets me know he’s trying, and despite the earlier weirdness, my heart melts at the effort.

“I would have never taken you for a romance movie kind of guy, Ledger,” I observe, cocking my head to the side and making no secret of staring at his face, both the good and the bad side. He must be getting more accustomed to this because he doesn’t flip his hair or turn his head.

Ledger stands up, grabs his plate, and rounds the table to take mine. “I may not be into all that lovey-dovey stuff in real life. But even a guy like me has a heart.”

None of this is news to me. Well, perhaps the part about not being into “lovey-dovey” stuff, but that’s also the bit I imagine he’s lying about. Especially to himself.

I help the Marine put pizzas away, clean the kitchen, and load dishes. After the place looks spotless and the dishwasher swirls and swishes, Ledger heads to the fridge for another beer. “Can I get you another one, Snoopy?”

“Snoopy?” I ask, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yeah, ‘cause you like snooping around my kitchen and life.”

I chuckle, feeling my cheeks flush. “Sure. I’ll take another of the Pale Ales. And I’m going to choose to see your nickname as a compliment, cowboy.”

He flips the switch in the kitchen and turns off all the lights except a night light, which is plugged into the outlet over the stove. It casts a warm glow on the rustic tiles lining the backsplash.

Pointing towards them, I ask, “Where are those tiles from? They look Moroccan or something.”

“They’re from Greece. See what I mean by snoopy? You’re curious about everything. I can’t think of a name that suits you better.”

“Does that make you Woodstock, then?”

He frowns. “I talk about as much as Woodstock most of the time.”

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