wer my emails, so I’m writing them here.
I know how we got here, but I can’t find my way back. Following your advice, I’ve made a new list of memories. Below are the moments that brought me to this place...
1) I saw your chest on the computer screen. And I stared (longer than I should have) at your muscles. At the time, it felt inappropriate. But I’m not sorry.
2) You caught me in my underwear.
3) You saw me for who I wanted to be, not an image or a label. I only wished I’d returned that kindness sooner.
4) We kissed. If you’d like to know more about this memory, well, you’ll need to respond to my emails.
5) We danced. I still hear that song in my dreams sometimes. I wake up wanting and I... Again a response is required to learn more.
Love,
Amelia Mae
Mark read the email a second time. Amy was in love with him. How? When? The questions scrambled in his head as his lower half responded to number five. Amy and sex—again those words wreaked havoc.
He’d been determined to move on, to focus on doing his job. He belonged here, saving lives, not tied to a town that offered nothing more than bad memories.
Except they weren’t all bad. He’d kissed Amy for the first time in Heart’s Landing. With her by his side, he’d locked the ghosts from his childhood where they belonged—in the past. And he’d fallen in love there.
Mark opened the laptop and began typing.
* * *
“DON’T GET YOUR hopes up,” Amy said to Jango and Rosie as they sat down on either side of her chair, their eyes focused on the kitchen table.
She’d moved the puppy into the house last week, knowing that continuing her training wouldn’t change the fact that she’d never serve in the military or work with a police force. And even if she miraculously showed an interest in learning the necessary skills, Amy didn’t want to let her go. Rosie belonged here.
Every morning, she fed the dogs, made her coffee and sat down at the computer to check her email. But fourteen days later, she still hadn’t heard from him. She’d convinced Luke to call and pretend the army needed to know if the latest team of PJs had deployed, but they’d refused to give him an answer.
For all she knew, he’d been killed in action. No one had bothered to tell her because they weren’t family. But she’d pushed the thought aside. Mark was alive. And she was determined to become his family.
Opening her inbox, she scanned past the junk mail and saw his name.
“He responded!” she cried. Both dogs jumped up and barked, nearly knocking her coffee mug off the table. “Mark sent an email!”
Settling into her chair and trying to appear calm, for the dogs’ sakes, she opened the message and started reading out loud.
Dear Amy,
I have so much to say to you, but I’ll wait until we talk. My shift starts again in eleven hours, about when you’ll be starting your day. But if we have some downtime, I will send you a message and see if you are online. Until then, here is my list:
1) The joy in your bright blue eyes when you first told me about your war dog training and breeding center.
2) The feel of your body pressed against me the night you “sprained” your ankle. (I also thought about fighting T.J. for the right to examine your foot. Not because I wanted to maintain the ruse. The idea of another man touching you, even your ankle, bothered me.)
3) The way you talked about your vibrator and living in the moment after we caught a glimpse (which I’ve tried to erase from my memory) of your cousin and Gabe.
4) The way you looked blindfolded, moving to the rhythm, willing to follow my lead.
5) Call me and I’ll tell you... If I continue, I’ll need a cold shower.
I’ll leave you to think about my list. I recommend focusing on number 4, and not just because it might leave you wanting. I want to lead you into a future where the little moments, the memories, matter more than the obstacles in our path.
Mark