Stolen September: A Military Romance

I take a filled plate from her.

“Uh huh. Speed dial?”

I shovel a forkful into my mouth, savoring the flavors of good food slow cooked. I can’t imagine what she did for dessert.

She passes me another side dish; this one is baked broccoli with pasta and cheese. “What? We volunteer together.”

My father chuckles, clarifying, “That’s what we’re calling it now, my darling wife?”

Mom huffs. “At least I know who will be at the tree lighting over by the east lawn at 7:50 p.m.”

I groan. My mother is either the best or the worst conspirator. I haven’t decided yet.

“All right, but I don’t need any help when we get there.”

“Are you kidding? I bet she’s got another boyfriend.” Cole is taunting me and I grind my teeth until my jaw aches. If I didn’t have a good sixty pounds of muscle on my brother, I’d wrestle him until he screamed uncle.

Mom pats my hand, not letting go. “Of course not, Henry. How could she possibly say no to you? Besides, Marines never give up.”

What my mother neglected to tell me was that at 6:30 I would be stuck on top of a float making its rounds around town with all the newly enlisted. Families waved at us and thanked us for our service, but I was too busy scanning the crowd for a dark-haired girl I had to beg for a second chance.

As the float makes another round, I finally see her on the east lawn, standing next to a few guys and checking something out on her phone. Mom was more than happy to inform me with a nudge that it was just her with a bunch of odd cousins I’d never met. The whole group of them have matching plaid scarves around their necks, and I assume they’re all related by their similar looks.

“There’s your girl.” My fellow Marine and best friend Frankie nods. He lives in the next town over but came out tonight since we’re in the same group training together. Frankie had his own summer romance that fizzled and has been singularly focused as I on our careers.

“Damn right,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on her. I study the way she brushes back a lock of hair. The way she smiles when the guy next to her says something that I assume is stupid. For his sake, he’d better be a cousin.

I get up, ready to jump off the float, pausing to take in her beauty.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Frankie pushes me off. Apparently that was as much of a pep talk I was going to get. I make a note to myself to get Frankie back.

I stride in her direction, ignoring folks as I go to get to her. Her cousins step back as soon as they see me, and I guess I look intimidating or determined because they slink off. I spy her two aunts off to the right, and they both give me a thumbs-up, making their own quick exit. I salute them and keep go

ing toward my girl, who hasn’t seen me yet.

“Beatrice.” I sidle up to her, pretending to watch the last few floats of the parade. She still smells the way I remember—like summer—when the breeze picks up a curl of her messy hair.

“Tank,” she mutters, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

I take a peek at her tight jeans and the way her phone stretches the pocket over the tightest ass I ever had the privilege of touching, once upon a time. I’d love nothing more than to be able to peel those jeans down and hook my fingers into her lacy panties, but for now I rein in my dirty thoughts and reach for her hand, slipping it inside of mine. She doesn’t resist and I pump her hand with a gentle squeeze, warming her up.

She clears her throat and another float passes by.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“It’s okay, Honeybee. I’m mad at me too.” I bump her lightly. We stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the crowd part ways. Our families leave us alone, standing there, and I enjoy the fact that she hasn’t run off.

“In the effort of not having to deal with my nosy family tonight, we can watch the tree lighting from here if that’s okay,” she says.

I can’t get her to look at me, and that’s all right. Small steps, even if I feel like all the time I have left is for sprinting. I’ll take my cues from her.

“Sure,” I agree, moving her in front of me so I can rest my arms around her. We listen to the carolers sing and the mayor, dressed up as Santa Claus, hands out candy canes to the kids taking pictures. My own family is eyeballing us from behind a bunch of lighted bushes. My brother Cole makes an obscene gesture, probably thinking he’s cheering me on. I angle Bea away from them as my mother clocks Cole for being rude. My dad stands with his hands in his pockets, pretending to not observe with a big smile on his face.

“Oh look!” Bea points at a group with sparklers, and her eyes glow from the light while we listen to the crowd count down until the tree is lit.

I think of the ten ways I’ve missed her and the nine ways I wanted to hold her. During training there were eight clear memories of the times she made me smile, the seven ways she made sounds during sex, and the six favorite positions I wanted to try all over again—god willing she’d let me. There were at least five top dates, and four shared milkshakes. Off the top of my head, I could only think of three times she beat me at pool and the last two were because her sweet ass distracted me.

However, on the count of one, I turn her around and hold her close for a kiss that’s meant to be chaste, but ends up as anything but. Open-eyed, she looks surprised but settles into the kiss quickly. Our lips touch for the first time in thirteen weeks, and Bea sighs like she’s missed this as much as I have. It gives me hope and a reason to take the kiss deeper. I can smell the cinnamon spices on her skin and what I think is pumpkin and sugar lip balm. Her kiss is like home and I don’t want to let her go, tangling my fingers in her hair. I was meant to come back for this.