Page 62 of Iron Shield
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From what Stina knew so far about Sierra team was that things were organized with ruthless efficiency.
But that truth did not extend to their walk-in freezer.
She’d been digging through it for twenty minutes, unearthing vacuum-sealed packages and reading labels, but most of the food in there wasn’t labeled at all.
She picked up a big package. Judging from the color, she guessed it wasn’t beef, which left chicken or pork.
She sliced open the package and issued a small cry of victory. The sound seemed somehow sad in the big space, more startling because it was the first sound she’d made all day.
She’d spent her morning going through the box of clothing Jolie gave her. She tried it all on, neatly folded what didn’t work and placed it back in the box.
Her friend was deep in college midterms, leaving her on her own. And Rome…well, she hadn’t seen him all day.
She leafed through some fashion magazines from the eighties but the instant she heard a sound, she tossed the magazine aside and bolted upright, listening for Rome’s voice.
After realizing what she was doing, she hit the gym and spent half an hour on the treadmill—only to find she was still listening for Rome.
Finally, she gave up and headed for the kitchen.
An idea had been taking shape ever since the night before, when Rome wandered in ahead of the rest of the team.
She’d told everyone about herbabamaking pierogi from scratch every Sunday without fail. Stina could still picture the older woman with flour dusting her forearms, humming a Ukrainian tune Stina had never learned the words to.
Rome’s response had been casual, tossed out as if it meant nothing.
My grandma made stuffed pork chops.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, the memory had stayed with her.
She filled a large bowl with cold water, dropped in a package of frozen pork chops to thaw, and got to work.
She tore the leftover bread into chunks and seasoned it, adding onion softened in butter and a handful of spices from the pantry, using her sense of smell to determine what worked.
She told herself she was cooking this dish because she had leftover bread and her first attempt hadn’t been as light and fluffy as she would have liked.
Because the team needed to eat.
She absolutely was not doing it because she’d woken up in Rome’s bed at some point during the night and felt the solid warmth of him next to her.
And she definitely wasn’t doing it because she’d reached for him when she woke and found only his pillow.
She pushed the thought away and focused on the pork chops.
As they baked, even she had to admit the kitchen smelled extraordinary. She timed all the dishes to come out of the oven at the same time. When the guys followed the scents into the kitchen, she found herself holding her breath, waiting for Rome.
He didn’t come.
She placed everything on the counter so the men could fill their plates and watched them take joy in a homecooked meal, but some of her excitement had fizzled.
Jolie drifted in last, giving Stina all the praise she could hope for. But it still left her feeling a little flat.
She filled her own plate and settled next to O—Odin, Opie or whatever his name was. Keeping her voice light, she asked, “Is Rome coming to dinner?”
He looked up from his stacked plate, a big bite halfway to his mouth. “He’s not on base.”
“Oh.”
