his feet up on the worn wooden coffee table while enjoying a beer.
“You’re in the military,” she said, bringing his attention back around. She was staring at his military ID.
Was, but he didn’t correct her.
“Is that how you knew Steven?”
He didn’t miss the way her voice dipped and stumbled across Steven’s name. “Same squadron.”
Slowly, she returned his wallet. “So you’re a fighter pilot.” It was a statement not a question, but either way, he wasn’t answering. “I should have known.”
The teakettle whistled, cutting off their conversation. And frankly, he was glad. That was one road he didn’t feel like heading down again.
She shut off the burner and poured the boiling water into her cup. After doctoring it with two spoonfuls of sugar, she gave it a quick stir and then took a careful sip. The moment she did, her eyes closed, her mouth parted, and a long, low sigh whispered from deep in her throat.
She stood like that for several moments. Eventually she took another sip, and the whole eye closing, lips parting, long sighing was repeated.
Jesus H. Christ. It was like watching porn. Good porn.
“Sorry,” she said after awhile. “I’m not quite human until I’ve had caffeine.”
“That isn’t caffeine.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but the whole wallet search and X-rated tea show had set him on edge.
“Yes it is,” she said, taking another sip.
“Look, I didn’t come here to discuss your drink preference.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, her tone a one eighty from when she’d demanded to see his wallet. “I didn’t offer you anything to drink. Can I get you something?”
“If it’s tea, no thanks.”
Her smile looked forced. “I think I have a coffeepot around here somewhere. It won’t take me but a second.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be sticking around that long.”
The top half of her disappeared into a lower cupboard. “I know it’s here somewhere.” There was a loud clanking, as if she’d knocked over a stack of pots and pans. “You really should try tea. Not only does it taste good, but a lot of varieties are also good for you.”
With a resigned sigh, he snagged the leg of one of the stools tucked under the kitchen peninsula with his boot and pulled it out. “I thought everyone from Seattle liked coffee.” He took a seat.
“Not me.” Clank. Clatter. “I think that was the problem with the coffee stand I used to own. Aha. Look what I found.” She reemerged, coffeepot in tow.
“Used to own?”
There was a moment of silence. “Yeah. I closed it.”
Something in her tone told him she wasn’t telling the complete truth.
She set the coffeepot down on the counter. “Right after my vintage clothing store closed,” she said before heading over to the sink for water. It took her a few more minutes to locate a filter and grounds (just how old were they?) but before long, the smell of freshly brewing coffee filled the kitchen.
How many businesses had she owned? He was about to ask when a picture on her refrigerator caught his attention. He looked closer and saw the big smile of a sandy-haired guy who looked like Mr. All-American.
Steven.
“I’m sorry, you know.”
She looked up at him, surprise evident in her sky blue eyes.
He didn’t wait for her to say anything, mad at himself for bringing it up in the first place but knowing there was no way he could leave without saying it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at Steven’s funeral. I wanted to be there.”
He’d been stuck overseas in a desert so hot it boiled your blood. It had been the only time in his military career he’d fought for leave, but they’d denied him. There had been a situation . . . a crisis . . . a something . . . and they hadn’t wanted their best pilot gone.
“Oh.” The coffeepot sputtered. Hissed. And he could see how she struggled to find a breath. For the first time he wondered what it would feel like to have someone miss him as much as she obviously missed Steven. “I’m sure he would have understood.”
Yeah, he would have. Steven was that type of guy. “Look.” Jared stood, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get out of there. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I’m not here to become your partner.”
She all but sighed with relief. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m just here to collect on my loan.”
The relief he saw on her face was short lived. “I don’t have your money.”