“Not for too long, I hope. Now let me get dressed. I can’t stay naked all day.”
“Why not?”
Her grin widened. “Because I have things to do.”
He frowned. “What kind of things?”
She shrugged. “Normal, everyday things, like picking up some clothes from the cleaners, buying groceries, washing the car. You know…just stuff.”
David followed her into the bedroom and sat on the bed as she began to dress. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know. Stuff hadn’t been on his agenda since the day he’d left for Vietnam.
“Can I come?”
Cara turned, surprised by the hesitant tone in his voice.
“Of course you can. I expected you to.”
“Is there a dress code for this kind of stuff?”
She started to laugh and then realized he was serious. Her hands fisted as she struggled to keep the anger out of her voice.
“I keep wanting to ask exactly what the hell the United States government did to you in the name of peace, but I’m afraid of the answer. You can wear shorts or any kind of pants. Jeans…slacks, whatever you like. A shirt of any kind is fine with me. There’s this great little restaurant where we can have lunch.” She frowned, then added, “Actually, it’s more like a tearoom, but the dress code is casual.”
“Okay,” David said, and took a pair of chinos from a hanger, then stood for a moment, choosing a shirt that would match.
Cara paused, watching the play of muscles across his back. Her gaze fell on the multitude of scars on his body as it had so many times before. Suddenly blinded by tears, she turned before he could see them and began digging through a dresser drawer.
It occurred to her then that she’d taken her freedom for granted, never considering the countless men who sacrificed on a daily basis so that she would never live in fear. She turned abruptly.
“David.”
“Yeah?” he muttered, as he bent over to tie his shoe.
“Thank you.”
He looked up. “For what?”
“For the years you spent in the service of this country. For the nights you didn’t sleep and the pain—”
He stood and put his forefinger in the center of her mouth, gently stopping what she’d been about to say.
“You don’t have to say this,” he said.
“Yes…actually I do,” Cara said. “I spent a lot of years feeling sorry for myself because my life didn’t work out the way I’d planned. And then I see you, like this, and what you suffered while I was warm and safe and—”
Her voice broke and she looked away.
David’s expression was shuttered. How did he respond to a brutal truth?
“Come here, honey. It’s okay.”
“No,” she muttered. “It will never be okay.”
“It’s almost over,” he said.
She frowned. “That’s not the first time you’ve alluded to unfinished business. What is it, David? Why can’t you tell me?”
He tried to grin. “You know the old spy joke. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you, and we both know I couldn’t do that. So…”
Cara turned away, muttering something beneath her breath as she finished dressing.
David arched an eyebrow as he smiled. “Those are pretty salty words for such a pretty lady.”
She purposefully ignored him, which made him smile even more. This woman was a far cry from the girl he’d left behind. He was falling in love all over again.
“I’ll finish dressing now,” he said.
She almost glared. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, ma’am.”
She sighed. “Yes, you are.”
“What would it take for you to change the subject?” he asked.
She lifted her chin, refusing to smile. “I’m going to the living room. When you’re ready, I will be waiting.” Then she marched out of the bedroom, leaving him on his own.
David hesitated briefly, then grabbed his wallet and keys before following her exit. This might be new and uncharted territory for him, but damned if he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Tearoom, indeed.
Two hours and a half dozen errands later, they walked into the restaurant. Almost immediately, Cara saw people she knew. They waved a hello, and she could tell by the looks on their faces that their curiosity was raised by the man at her side.
Earlier, she’d almost lost his company when she had gone into the hair salon to pick up a bottle of her favorite shampoo. One of the stylists had flirted, which he’d calmly ignored, but when the shampoo girl came by and pinched his behind, Cara thought he was going to bolt. Cara had calmly told the girl to go molest someone else, which had made everyone laugh, including David. After that, the rest of the morning had been fairly innocuous. But now there was this. She glanced at David, judging his expression. To her surprise, he was looking at her.
“What do you think?” Cara asked.
“It smells good in here,” he said.
She smiled. “The food tastes as good as it smells.”
“Then I think you made the right choice, and I think those people at the table near the window are trying to get your attention.”
Cara sighed. “Yes, I know. What do I do…about you, I mean?”
An eyebrow arched. “What do you want to do…about me, I mean?”
She grinned. “One thing has certainly changed since I first knew you. You have a wicked sense of humor. Now be serious. Is it, uh, safe to introduce you as David or should I—”
David slid his hand along the length of her spine and gave her a gentle push in their direction.
“I am who I am. If it was dangerous for me to surface, I damn sure wouldn’t have brought it to you.”
She looked startled, and he realized she hadn’t considered that aspect of his life having a negative impact on hers.
“Cara! Dear! How wonderful to see you.”
Cara smiled. Obviously they’d stood too long at the door waiting to be seated. Her friend Debra Shay had been too curious to wait.
“Good to see you, too,” Cara said.
“Well…aren’t you going to introduce me?” Debra asked, and then glanced coyly at David.
Cara smiled. “If you promise not to pinch him on the backside, I will.”
Debra giggled and patted David’s arm in commiseration. “Oh, no! You must have been at Ream’s Salon. That Janis female is lethal around good-looking men.”
David smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “I’m David Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Cara’s friends.”
“David, this is Debra Shay,” Cara said. “Ray worked with her husband, Roy.”
David nodded congenially while thinking that he felt like he was playing a part. Normal chit-chat, ordinary people, having lunch in a tearoom in Chiltingham, New York. It was a far cry from subterfuge and espionage. And then the hostess arrived and the moment ended.
“I’m sorry for