Page 60 of Luck Be Mine
Hunt let himself into the apartment, frustrated and annoyed that GPS put Cait still at the hospital. He wrestled his jagged homecoming emotions against the three weeks of boring routine at sea and a cancelled mission. The early morning hours left only muted light spread on the entry floor of their apartment.
“You’ve come home to nothing for years. Get over it.” His voice echoed in the quiet.
He flipped the light switch, dropped his go bag, and shut the door. Light flooded their small living room, and the neat, decorated home left him undone.
His home.
He never got used to this.
The red velvet sofa had a new set of flowered pillows and a soft, white throw folded across one arm for chilly nights. A half-filled bookcase beside the china cupboard held books, photo albums, and a few of Cait’s cookbooks. A fresh mix of rugs warmed the floors and shaped a lived-in space. It was becoming their safe harbor, a place you could sink into and breathe.
He stepped closer to the small wall by the recliner and studied the pictures. Their wedding photo. His medals, framed. It was a lot. She was proud of him, but he’d never openly showedthese unless on a dress uniform. Cait’s weren’t here yet, but they would be.
The only messy spot was Cait’s art area in the corner. The finished drawing of the USS Gerald R. Ford sat propped at the back of her table, finally mounted on an art board. He stepped closer to the tilted table to see what she’d been drawing and stared at the young man in Air Force camo standing by a Jeep.
“Man,” he sighed. Airman Rusty Dent. Again. How many times could she draw him before it would be okay to stop?
Her control journal, their method for staying in step with each other in absences, lay on the corner of the table. With all the neon sticky notes hanging on its edges, it was clear she had a few things to tell him.
The house smelled of candle wax, cinnamon, and lemon, and he’d bet there were frozen homemade meals in the freezer, or he could make breakfast. Should he wait for Cait or eat?
Not wanting to leave a mess in the clean house, he took his go-bag and went to the second bedroom. Cait had gone to great measures to organize his work room. Dropping the bag by the closet, he shed his boots and went to their room.
Showering on ship was a chore taking five minutes or less to minimize water usage. Growing up, he hadn’t had even that much time. Cait was the one who taught him to stand in the shower for longer periods and let the hot water pound the stress out of muscles.
He shed his clothes, dropped them in the laundry basket, and stepped into the hot shower. He took a long sniff and sighed at the lavender and vanilla scent of Cait’s lotions and soaps. Apple Blossom from Afghanistan had been retired. These aromas signaled safe to his tired body and mind.
He ducked his head under the spray and let the water beat on him. The quiet, the privacy, the comfort pushed against the stress of mission readiness pounding his brain. God, he neededthis. These first few hours home were always a rocky time. Settling himself from the field was never easy, a fact he didn’t tell Cait. Sometimes it took hours, and sometimes it took days.
His shower products sat in the corner unused. He popped the cap on new shampoo and took a sniff. Benign, muted scent. He checked the bottle. Ocean breeze. He used it and decided it was okay.
A squeak from the bedroom alerted him. Hopefully, Cait was home and it wasn’t an intruder. He would look silly fighting naked. He leaned around the shower curtain.
“Hunt? God, I hope it’s you in the shower.” She hesitated in the doorway.
He did a quick head-to-toe sweep, not stifling a surge of overwhelming lust.
“Thank God. You should have called me.” She stepped further into the bathroom, slipped out of her shoes, and pulled her surgical top over her head. The white tank she wore underneath was closer to see-through than to opaque, and her pink nipples pushed on the fabric begging for his mouth. “Guess what?”
“What?” His eyes still feasting, he was a step behind the excitement shining in her eyes.
“I’ve graduated full time to trauma surgery. No more training.”
Pride streaked through him. “I knew you could do it.”
“I’m glad you thought so because I had questions.”
“Sometimes in your gut you accept you’re good. It’s me. It’s you.”
“Knowing and doing are two different things.”
“Sometimes it’s both.” The semi-erection he’d been sporting in anticipation of some adult time with her shifted to full alert mode. “Want to join me? Let’s celebrate.” He quit masking the heat in his gaze.
“Yes.” Her smile spread the fire, the sweep of her eyes over his body all the invitation he wanted.
She ditched the rest of her clothes in efficient fashion, and he watched. Better than any strip tease in his honest opinion. She was fucking gorgeous in her pale skin, and he needed to touch in the worst way. He stepped into the water stream to make room for her.
Drawing the shower curtain so they were closed in the tight space with the hot spray of water, she quickly slid against him like three weeks apart had never happened.
