Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 66978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
For once I’d like to be able to let it all go. Fly free, if only for moment.
“Everything smells great,” Leif says.
“My mom’s lasagna is the absolute best. Just ask Aspen. Every time we go to an Italian restaurant, I order lasagna and every time I say—”
“It’s good, but nothing like my mother’s,” Aspen finishes for him, laughing.
Happiness radiates through both of them. I drop my gaze to Aspen’s left hand, where her wedding set sparkles. It’s got to be two carats for sure. A round solitaire set in a ring guard of diamond chips. Buck wears a plain gold band on his finger.
Again, I’m aware of the cloud of happiness that seems to enclose them. It’s like a bubble of sunshine engulfing them, and some of it radiates onto Leif.
While I’m sitting in this chair below a gray cloud with rain threatening to fall.
Happiness is not an option for me. It never was.
Aspen sits on the couch, and Buck takes a seat beside her.
He grabs his glass of Chianti, swirls it, and then takes a sip. “This is one of my favorites. It’s made in a tiny town in Tuscany, and I discovered it when Leif and I were living here last year. This little liquor store in the village stocks it, so of course I had to take Aspen there as soon as we got here, and I bought a case of it.”
Aspen takes another sip of hers. “I have to admit that it’s one of the best Chiantis I’ve ever had. Not that I know a lot about wine. I just know what I like.”
I have nothing to add to this conversation, so I say nothing.
“Are you a wine drinker, Kelly?” Aspen asks.
“Not really.”
“Right, you said you don’t drink much.”
“Right,” I reply.
“I’m a bourbon man myself,” Leif offers. “But I like wine.”
God, could this conversation get any duller?
Buck rises then. “Let me get the appetizers.”
Thank God. Appetizers. We can chew instead of talk.
He walks to the kitchen and returns carrying a tray. “Antipasti,” he says. “Or my version, anyway. These are skewers of dry salami, cantaloupe, green olives, and mozzarella drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil.” He sets the tray on the coffee table, along with four plates stacked with napkins. “Help yourself.”
I don’t move.
Leif does. “You know me. You don’t have to ask me twice.” He grabs a plate, places two of the skewers on it and then takes a napkin. To my surprise, instead of keeping it for himself, he hands it to me. “Kelly?”
I’m too surprised not to take it. “Thank you,” I murmur.
Then he smiles at me.
He smiles at me, and I feel…
I feel…something.
Something I’ve never felt.
I’m not sure what it is, but it’s…pleasant.
It’s just my body reacting to a good-looking man who did something nice for me. That’s all it is.
But it’s something.
And I have to say…I don’t hate it.
I’m not sure how to eat these little skewers, so I wait until Aspen takes a bite. She picks up the small wooden skewer and bites the first piece off of it.
I do the same. The first piece is a small chunk of mozzarella cheese, and it’s fantastic. The little bit of extra-virgin olive oil gives it a tang and it melts against my tastebuds.
The next bite is a salty olive, perfect after the cheese, and then the sweetness of a chunk of cantaloupe. That gives way to the umami of the salami. All bound together by extra-virgin olive oil.
“These are wonderful,” I say.
A smile splits Buck’s handsome face. “I’m so glad you like them. They’re actually my own invention.”
“They are?” Aspen raises her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you that, baby?”
“You did not.”
“Yeah. I love traditional antipasti, but it’s a pain in the ass to eat it with your hands or with a fork and knife. So I invented my little antipasti skewers. You can put anything on them, but this combo is my favorite.”
“I agree with Kelly,” Leif says. “They’re delicious.”
“I’ve made these for you a hundred times, Phoenix.” Buck laughs.
“You’ve made them once,” Leif says. “And besides this, I didn’t even know you could cook.”
“Did he just call you Phoenix?” I ask.
“He did. It’s my SEAL name.” He smiles at me.
Which makes me uncomfortable.
“Are you from Phoenix?”
“No, I’m from a small ranching town in Texas. They called me Phoenix in the Navy because I was able to get out of scrapes.”
“Yeah, he’s risen from the ashes more times than I can count,” Buck says. “He had all our backs in Afghanistan. Phoenix here is a true hero.”
“You both are.” Aspen gazes adoringly at her husband.
Puke.
But I can’t deny my respect for anyone in the military. I almost joined up myself after high school. My mother kicked me out of the house when I turned eighteen midway through my senior year. With no place to go, I was lucky to find a friend whose parents agreed to take me in until graduation. They didn’t have to do that, and I’m eternally grateful.