Page 10 of Jack of Hearts

She smiles at me. “Hey.”

“I cooked.”

Her brows go up and there’s a twinkle in those brown eyes. “Oh yeah?” She tugs off her gloves and pulls off the leather apron work shirt she’s wearing. All of it goes on her work table. “So what did you make?”

“Dinner.”

“Smart ass.” She falls in step with me as we walk to the house. Then she stops dead. “Oh my God, look at my house. You did all this?” She points to the stairs.

“Yeah, I know the list prioritized the inside repairs first, but I heard there was an ice storm coming in and I wanted to make sure this was safe. Didn’t want you to fall.”

Then she tosses her arms around my neck and squeezes me tight. “Thank you so much.”

I hug her back because she feels so damn good in my arms. So right. Like this is where she belongs. But I have no claim on her.

I step away. “Food is probably getting cold.”

“Right. I can’t believe you cooked for me. Thank you.”

“You don’t even know what it is or if it tastes good.”

“And I don’t even care. No one has cooked for me since my Nana died. I eat over at Ruthie’s diner most of the time or make eggs, sandwiches or cereal here. When I’m really working on a piece, I forget to eat for hours on end.” She pats her soft belly. “Though you’d never know it from looking at me.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

We eat in companionable silence with the occasional, “This is so good!” from Lucy.

We’re almost done when I look up at her. “I want to tell you the story.”

“What story?” she asks.

“About why I’m the—what did you call me earlier?—the oldest virgin in town?”

“I believe I said the hottest virgin.”

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “If you say so.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You can tell me, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your business.”

“I want you to know.”

She nods and pushes her plate away. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“So I had a girlfriend in high school. We were together pretty much the entire four years. She took a purity pledge at her church and I agreed I’d wait until we got married. After graduation I joined the Army. I gave her a promise ring before I left—couldn’t afford a real engagement ring.” I take a deep breath. “It was eighteen months before I was able to get back the first time. She was there waiting for me just like we’d talked about. I was only able to stay home about a week. The next time I got leave was nearly two years later.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “When I got to town, she didn’t come to meet me. I went to her parent’s house and they gave me the address to her apartment. When I got there a guy answered, in a towel. She came bouncing out of a bedroom in the back wearing his shirt. She took one look at me and the whole story came out.

“I hadn’t told her I was coming home that time. I wanted to surprise her. I had a ring, I was ready to propose. Hell, I was ready to elope. But she’d moved on. Fucked that guy and if rumors are to be believed a string of others. So I left and never went back.”

“Pardon me for saying, but she seems like a selfish bitch. She should have told you she’d moved on.”

“Yeah, she should have. I’m not upset about that part anymore. I’m glad we’re not together. She would not have made me happy and I know no amount of anything I could ever do would have made her happy.”

“I get that. So after that, why didn’t you just hook up with someone random?”

“I don’t know. Initially I was hurt and I just went back and threw myself into work, accepted every assignment, especially dangerous ones. When I looked up again it had been several years and I was tired and ready to be done. When my service ran out, I didn’t re-enlist.”