Page 17 of The Bright Side of Brooding
“She’s amazing,” Rob put in.
I glanced at Masters to find him staring at me—intense blue eyes juststaring. My stomach dropped when he held my gaze but didn’t speak.
“Thank you. Uh, actually, that reminds me.” I broke the trance-like connection between me and the towering, somber man. Somehow, I remembered—I’d taken Masters food, but I’d gotten caught up in other tasks and hadn’t settled my debt with Rob. I turned to him. “I did want to invite you to feast night. As a thank you. Next Sunday? Of course, you’re all invited.”
“Oh, I wish. Rotation starts this week,” Rob said, truly dejected.
“Then maybe the next one? I guess that’d put us at the end of February.” I could feel eyes on me. No need to guess who, since I was looking at Nate and Rob, alternately.
“Works for me. Should I bring a date?” Rob asked, raising his brows.
“If you like, sure. Just let me know so I have a good count.” I turned to Nate and gestured to him and Masters. “And you’re both welcome as well, of course.”
Nate nodded, smiled kindly. “Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Good. Well, gentlemen, I’m going to head back inside and warm up. Hope you all have a great day.”
My eyes flicked up to find Masters staring back at me. Then he nodded, ever so slightly, a gesture I’d already come to find familiar and mildly infuriating because it gave me so little.
“Think on what we talked about, yeah?” Rob said as he pulled open his car door.
“Will do. Send me the info.”
I held up a hand to him and Nate, who’d already jogged across the street to slip into his car. Masters just stood there, hulking and silent and so stunning in a T-shirt, sweats, and sneakers, I did nothing but turn and walk home.
Why hadn’t I just saidbyelike a normal human? More particularly, why hadn’t he? He was stubborn and… stingy. I had no feel for him in person—at least not afriendlyfeeling. Whatever I got from him in person was stern and quiet. His silence and spare words screamed introvert, so that gave him a little pass. But the man was my neighbor! And the letters he wrote were so different. They were… lovely.
I leaned against the door after shutting myself safely inside and turned the locks. I couldn’t get Masters out of my mind, and seeing him every few days had done nothing to keep him out. We never spoke, and I doubted he saw me, but man oh man, did I see him. I’d caught him at the commissary more than once. I saw him at the clinic almost every time he came in. I’d noticed him on jogs several times, and resisted the urge to pull over and ask if he’d been cleared for that after the accident.
Because that would be a weird invasion of privacy and would indicate a breach in the personal privacy act, so no. I didn’t do that. Also, it should be noted that he looked really good running.Shocker.
I banged my head against the door a few times, then pushed off, seeking something to banish that serious face from my mind. An elaborate recipe, something time-consuming. Maybe I’d make puff pastry from scratch. Or croissants.
* * *
Sucker that I was, I agreed to accompany Rob’s team to the competition. I couldn’t resist a chance to help when needed—really needed. There was honestly nothing better. And they needed me, bad. They had to submit the names of their team that week, and they wouldn’t have much time to do it after the rotation started since everyone else on the team would be participating.
So, in just over three weeks, I’d be traveling to the UK to act as the medical supervisor for the team of three. I already knew Rob and Alicia, and I knew who Arturo was, though we hadn’t been introduced. Plus the coach.
My stomach fluttered at the mental mention ofhim. Rob had listed Nicholas Masters as the coach of their small team from Kugelfels. I knew Masters coached them, but I hadn’t seen him in action. I couldn’t reconcile the stern man with my experiences of coaches—warm, effusive people shouting at teams, pushing them to do better, achieve more. The idea that I might get to see him do that work appealed to me far more than it should have.
After a long week, I turned into the neighborhood just before dusk. Like always lately, I glanced at Masters’ house as I passed, and my heart leapt upon seeing him standing up from where he crouched over what looked like his cat. His gaze met mine, and I sucked in a breath as I slowed—more like jolted—then looked away. He looked dangerous in his dark camouflage uniform, patrol cap low over his eyes, and camo paint streaking over his face.
During rotation, the soldiers got to come and go now and then, depending on what their commander and the schedule allowed. Every few days, they’d pop home for a shower, maybe a few hours of sleep, and food.
The idea hit before I could swat it away, and the moment it did, I knew I wouldn’t think of anything else until I’d fed him.
I had warm, hearty beef stew burbling in the Crock-Pot, waiting for me. More than enough to share. I’d finished the last of my six weeks of meals for the men who’d been injured two months ago. I hadn’t shared a meal with anyone other than Mr. Meier next door in far too long. And there stood a man who’d likely been out in the field since the rotation started four days ago.
After dumping my things and stripping out of my jacket, I hustled to the kitchen, grabbed a two-quart plastic container, and filled it with stew. Dang, it smelled good. I tore the baguette I’d grabbed on the way home in half and stuck it in a bag with the container, then all but ran to the front door and out, sans jacket and all warm things.
No matter. I’d be quick. And—yes!—he was still out. He was looking down at the white ball masquerading as a cat, and only as I got closer did I realize he held a bright blue leash that he’d hooked to a harness of the same color around the cat’s little body.
Oh. My. Cheesecake.He had his cat on a leash. I chuckled under my breath, unable to stifle it. The sight was just too unexpected. This giant beast of a man in black camouflage and war paint holding a skinny leash leading to the daintiest cat I’d ever seen.
I ignored the answering zip that shot through my chest.
“Masters, hi.” The words felt awkward. I wouldn’t normally call a man I’d interacted with more than a few times, who wasn’t my superior, by his last name. And if there was a power disparity, I’d refer to the person by rank or title. But sayingSergeant Mastersseemed too formal.
