Page 32
“Hey. It’s just vanilla. I couldn’t find any other flavors. Nothing to get emotional about.”
She sniffed and met his gaze. His eyes were warm brown and reminded her of the richest chocolate. But the softness in the depths made her breath hitch again.
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “It was very sweet of you. And you can’t imagine what a feast a small cup of vanilla ice cream looks like to me.” She’d lived off dehydrated food packs for so long, rationing them out to the smallest portions possible and supplementing with any nuts, greens or mushrooms she could scavenge on the mountain. Ice cream made her want to weep.
She picked up the cup and took a bite. The instant the cold, sweet, creamy food hit her tongue, she moaned and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Wyatt’s gaze was burning with an intensity that she had to look away from.
He held up a finger and walked back out. A second later he came back wheeling a recliner into the room. He angled it beside her bed.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m spending the night.”
She frowned. “You won’t be comfortable in that thing,” she warned, though it looked plush and far more comfortable than anything she’d seen in a while.
“Compared to what?” He dropped into it and tested the recline function with a grand gesture that made her lips stretch into another smile. “On the mountain, I would be sleeping on the ground. Before that, I was in a cot in the barracks that might as well be a plank of wood. This is basically a five-star hotel.”
She smiled again, even though a low flutter in her stomach brought her back to reality. She had to question Wyatt’s reasons for planting himself by her side for the night because she wasn’t only sick—she was in danger, and now everyone here knew it.
She took another bite of ice cream and savored it for a moment, thinking of what to say.
Wyatt studied her. “You look better, by the way.” He glanced at her hand around the spoon. “I didn’t know they did nails in this place.”
She issued a low puff of laughter, totally unexpected and so strange to her own ears. Holding out her hand, she inspected the bright blue polish covering not just her nails but a fair bit of the surrounding skin, little smudges where a small, unsteady hand had wandered past the cuticles.
“Not exactly a professional job.”
His lips twitched. “You did it yourself?”
“No.” She laughed, the sound rusty in her throat, hardly sounded like a noise she’d make. “The little girl. Navy is her name. She’s someone’s daughter—I’ve met a lot of people and I’m embarrassed to say I can’t remember who she belongs to. But she was very sweet, barging in here like she owned the place. She climbed right up on the bed and announced she was going to do my nails. In blue.”
He chuckled. “I know Navy. She comes into the training facility with her dad sometimes.” He wasn’t good at guessing ages. The child was small, but with a family like the Malones, it wasn’t surprising that she was mighty.
“She told me very seriously that she’s not a baby like Maren.”
“Who’s Maren?”
“That’s what I asked.” Whitley shook her head and swallowed another bite of ice cream. She pictured the girl’s determined face puckered with concentration as she painted far more polish onto Whitley’s skin than her nails. “Turns out Maren is her baby sister. She’s also got a baby cousin who—and I’m quoting directly here—poops his pants.”
Wyatt threw his head back and laughed. Hearing the contagious sound made her giggle too. In that moment, she felt a knot in her chest that she hadn’t realized was there ease.
His gaze landed on her face and held there a long second before traveling up to her hair. Suddenly self-conscious, she lifted her hand to touch one lock.
“Willow helped with my hair too.” What had been hopelessly tangled had transformed into something close to actual dreadlocks. The look wasn’t anything she’d intentionally choose for her style—but at least it was clean now.
“I’m glad it doesn’t smell like campfire.”
“It looks good.” His voice dipped low, almost husky, and it made her believe he meant it.
“I never thought about wearing dreads,” she went on, scooping up more ice cream. “I broke my brush trying to get out the tangles, and this was the result.”
She’d cried when Willow tipped her head back into a bowl and the first trickle of warm water touched her scalp. The feel of her gently massaging her head had been pure bliss. Willow touchingly hadn’t asked questions, just worked patiently through section after section until what remained looked less like a disaster and more like a choice.
She wiggled her toes under the blanket, currently encased in a pair of soft socks, fuzzy and pale yellow. Small comforts. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed things like that until she had painted nails, clean hair, warm socks…and ice cream.
She felt a newfound gratitude for things she’d taken for granted in her old life. For the first time in longer than she wanted to think about, she felt almost human again.
A sudden scream tore through the wall from the room next door.
