The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(6)
She rejoined the couple, and as they spent the next twenty minutes making small talk the tension diminished. Darren leaned closer to Allison, and she reached out to touch his arm or hand, hope erasing a portion of the worry clouding her face.
They said quiet good nights at the foot of the stairs. Halfway up, Darren glanced over his shoulder and their eyes met. Harper couldn’t read his expression, but he kept a hand on Allison’s waist the rest of the climb.
Harper stretched out on the couch but popped back to sitting when footsteps sounded on the stairs again.
Allison appeared with a blanket over her arm and a pillow clutched to her chest. “I can’t believe I forgot to give you these.”
Harper took them and set them at her hip. “No worries. I actually fell asleep with Sophie after reading her ‘Rapunzel.’”
“She’s crazy about fairy tales and loves to play make-believe.” The indulgent smile faded. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m playing make-believe. Pretending, you know?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded and paused in the doorway of the den. “Thanks for coming down and getting him home this time.”
This time. Darren’s midnight ramble wasn’t a onetime thing. Harper’s nerves took a swan dive.
Harper lay down, her thoughts jumbled between past and present. Darren and Allison’s struggles peeled back the callus on her memories. The abyss that had almost claimed her after Noah’s death yawned closer than it had in years, and after she fell into a fitful sleep, Noah haunted her dreams.
Chapter 2
Past
After a couple of hours, muscle memory kicked in and Harper didn’t have to remind herself to smile at the unending flow of customers. Apparently, scorching summer days in Kitty Hawk had only one balm—ice cream.
The shop’s AC struggled to keep up with the constant bursts of steamy air as people entered and exited. She was on the scooping rotation for the rest of her shift. The cold air from the ice-cream freezer was offset by the surprisingly strenuous task of scooping. Every few minutes she had to turn and dab at her face with the towel she kept tucked in her Wilbur’s World Famous Ice Cream apron.
She doubted Wilbur Wright or the rest of the world would agree, but it was a good summer job. This was her third—and she hoped last—summer working at Wilbur’s. She’d saved and scrimped and studied hard. Between the scholarships and the money she’d earned, the University of North Carolina was her ticket out of Kitty Hawk.
With her pasted-on smile, she watched the next customer take two measured steps forward. Interest flickered. In board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt from a band she’d never heard of, the man was good-looking, but if his posture and general air hadn’t given him away, his hair did.
High and tight. The standard military-issue haircut. He was probably on leave from Virginia Beach. As hot as the guy was, she avoided military guys. They prowled the Outer Banks looking for a hookup to pass their few days of R and R, never to be seen again. Not her style.
“What can I get you, sir?” She tacked on the “sir” automatically, even though he didn’t look much older than she did.
“Mint chocolate chip. Two scoops, if you don’t mind.” His accent was slow and sultrier than the weather. She couldn’t place it, but he was from somewhere farther south than Kitty Hawk. Some place where women lounged in rocking chairs on front porches, gossiped about their neighbors, and drank sweet tea.
“I don’t mind a bit, but even if I did, it’s my job.” She tempered the slight bite in her tone with a smile she didn’t have to force. “Waffle or sugar cone?”
“Sugar.” The way he said the word made it sound like an endearment.
The flush started in her chest and made the temperature rise a few more degrees in the packed store. She ducked closer to the tubs of cold ice cream and flapped her shirt a couple of times before fulfilling his order.
In between pulls on the metal scoop, she glanced up at him through the glass. All she could see were his shoulders and chest. Both wide, but a little gangly. They were nice, though. Solid.
Their hands brushed on the exchange, hers sticky, his big, with long fingers and a broad palm. Uncharacteristic nerves zinged through her body, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She rubbed both her hands on her apron and glanced down the line, but things were at a standstill.
She recognized the look in his eyes. It happened often enough that she’d learned evasive tactics. The easiest evasion was the simplest. The overly interested customer paid and left and forgot about her as soon as he crossed glances with the next bikini-clad beach bunny.
She leaned back and checked on the holdup. Sheila, a frazzled expression on her face, slapped the side of their flaky credit card reader a couple of times. Highly satisfying, but generally ineffective. Harper could step over and help. That would break the weird vibes pinging between her and the man staring at her with a charming half smile and cocked eyebrows. Her feet refused to move. Not even a shuffle.
“Are you here for the summer working?” he asked before licking across the top scoop.
“I grew up in Kitty Hawk. A native species. We’re a rare breed.”
“I’ll bet you are.” The admiration in his gaze and the softness of his tone tied her stomach into a Boy Scout–worthy knot.