Page 65 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Summer
Ididn’t ask the obvious question last night, and it nagged at me all day.
It would’ve been so easy. Just say it, right there in the moment.Nick, what are your plans?
He’d said retirement and moving back to the Northeast. But it’d been in the group context in London, and so much had happened in the short days since then. I wanted to know more. Ineededto know more because I’d already invested in him more than I had in anyone else, ever. I didn’t want to get wrapped up in someone who planned to leave any day. He technically had time, but often it felt like people retiring had months of leave they could take before they got out. I didn’t want him to just… disappear.
My gut clenched, but I exhaled around it, determined to finish this day well and then enjoy an evening with him. We wouldn’t get much time together this weekend, and part of me regretted that. But canceling girls’ night wasn’t an option, nor was canceling the feast—I’d already invited guests, and I didn’t want to be rude. Instead of scheduling the feast night as girls only, I’d remembered I’d already extended an invite to a couple, so we’d shifted around, and once I promised to cook and host, my friends seemed more than pleased with the change.
The day at the clinic was uneventful—too much so, since I’d hoped to have a little face time with Major Hall, but never saw her. She was probably mired in meetings and other obligations—the woman worked like mad.
After work, a trip to the commissary, and checking all the donation boxes and gathering things so none of them overflowed, I finally made it home. I changed quickly, texted to confirm he was ready while rounding up dinner, and practically sprinted to Nick’s.
He opened the door before I knocked.
“Hi,” I said, breathless from the near-jog I’d taken, all while keeping the food from spilling—or so I hoped.
“Come in.” He took the bag, then stepped aside so I could enter.
I didn’t go far. I’d been thinking about this—about seeing him again, and being able to touch him—all day. I wanted my hands on him and his on me.
“Come to the kitchen,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice.
Maybe my desperation for him was obvious. I didn’t mind him knowing. And happily, he seemed just as eager to have me there, considering he’d answered the door even before I stood fully on the step of his porch.
His hand came to my lower back, guiding me along, and my body lit up. His large, warm palm pressed through my coat—I could hardly feel it, in reality, but the gesture was enough. And it reminded me I wanted the coat off. I removed it as we walked, but he didn’t return his hand since we’d made it to the kitchen.Fine then.
He set the bags on the table, then turned to me. I’d already dumped my jacket over the side of a dining chair. We came together, my hands at his waist and his at my face. I loved how he did that—held my head so gently and purposefully.
“I missed you today,” I admitted.
“And I you.”
Then he kissed me, so much heat and longing and…wow.The man could kiss. And together, we clicked. It felt right to be here, in his arms. For once, I didn’t feel that twinge at the back of my neck—I didn’t have a nagging sensation that my care for this person would leave me weak. His instant and consistent return of my feelings whenever I expressed them went a long way in helping that.
I shoved that away and savored the brush of his fingers at my jaw, down my neck. I didn’t want to escalate things too quickly, but the lure of his abs proved too strong. I slipped my hands under his shirt and smoothed them over the ridiculous ridges of his stomach.
At the contact there, his breath caught, and then he chuckled. The combination of those two sounds was basically the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
Before I could outright attack him, a light pressure against my knee startled me. I broke from the kiss and looked down to find the adorable Butter leaning up against my leg with his front paws, checking out the action.
“Are you jealous, little one?” I asked, regrettably removing my hands from Nick’s abs and petting the cat’s feather-soft fur on his head. His purr thrummed through his little body.
“He doesn’t do this with me. He makes me come to him most of the time. I think he has a thing for you,” Nick said, faking grumpiness.
“Butter and I were meant to be. Weren’t we, tiny fluff?” I hunched down to better pet and love on the cat, who was more than happy to lean into my hand where I pet his head, eager for my attentions.
“Guess you were.”
I glanced up, because the tone of those words was so serious, given the moment. Nick stood smiling down with arms crossed, towering over us. But his face had a beautiful smile creasing his cheeks and lighting his eyes.
My heart, though it hadn’t completely slowed from the kiss, accelerated again. “We better eat or I’m going to jump you again and we’ll get nothing done.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll stay right here.”
I beamed at him. “Okay, I take it back. Feed me, please, Sergeant Masters.”
