Blowing a long stream of small, perfect bubbles out the open window.
He shoved away from the door and toed it closed quietly to keep from disturbing Lucia, not thai the little one seemed likely to stir even if a bomb detonated outside. "Where did you find that on a military base?"
"I made it from kitchen dish soap." Straw to her lips again, she launched a barrage of bubbles lofting out the window skyward. "I wanted to make a test batch before trying them with Lucia tomorrow to keep her entertained until it's time to leave."
"Good idea." He scratched the back of his neck, closing the distance between them. "There's a Base Exchange store here, too, where we can pick up clothes for you both."
"The copilot, Darcy, mentioned that. She offered to escort us around." Sara passed a small bag to him.
Huh? He took the bag and peered inside. "Sunflower seeds?"
"I noticed Darcy chews them all the time. When I asked where she got them, she was generous enough to share hers with us. I thought you would like to feed your birds."
The bag gained ten pounds in his hand. In the middle of a crappy day running from maniac gunmen, Sara had thought he would enjoy feeding birds?
She was right. He could use the stress reliever. Did she know that, too?
Embarrassment and more than a little unease sent his voice gruff. "You didn't tell her about my hobby, did you?"
"Of course not. That's our secret." She puffed a big teasing bubble toward his face. "What a wonderful coincidence for Darcy and her husband that they're both working here at the same time and sharing a room, as well."
The "practicality" of the sleeping arrangements had brought matching big, goofy-ass grins from both Max and Darcy Keagan. The squadron would probably be celebrating another baby shower in about nine months. Someone had actually hinted at having a belated shower for Lucia after she'd called him papa.
He would have to make formal announcements soon. Although the way the gossip mill churned in a squadron, he suspected everyone would know before they touched down. "Max Keagan was already here and when the rest shook down for our crews to fly..."
"You put her on the roster so she could see her husband, you softie."
He leaned by the window, staring out into the stark patch of lawn illuminated by security lights, no manicured gardens here. Just utilitarian grass and a few scraggly rose bushes along the wall. "If my flyers are happy at home, they're stronger at work."
"Admit it. You are a softie inside."
"I'll show you soft, lady." He winked, enjoying the lightness she brought to his life even when they couldn't pursue anything beyond flirting.
He pitched a handful of seeds out the window even though the birds wouldn't feed en masse until morning. They'd all be there in the morning when he woke up, though, thanks to Sara. "My squadron's going to think I've lost it."
"Maybe you don't lose it near enough."
"Like never?"
"You said it, not me."
He tossed another handful without commenting. What could he answer after all? She was right again.
"I've always loved bubbles. At first I enjoyed the way they glistened like clear diamonds back when I had all these airy dreams of a glamorous life." She dipped the straw in the soapy solution. "Then I envied them their ability to float away."
She whispered a tiny trail out the window.
Realization spiraled through his brain much like those soapsuds scattering to the sky. "You blew bubbles at Chavez's?"
"All the time." She kept her face toward the window as if only half with him. "I told him they were for the children, but they were really for me. So I could leave."
The image of the whimsical woman with an indomitable spirit subdued—caged—stabbed through him, hard, unrelenting, until it burned behind his eyes with tears he could never let himself shed but felt all the same.
He understood the depth of her helplessness. He knew firsthand how tough it could be for a strong will to be vulnerable. "When I was a teenager, I used to sit on the fire escape outside our apartment. I fed the birds then watched them glide away."
Her head cocked to the side, hair hanging until it just missed dipping into the bowl. "Our glider date."
"What?"