Page 131 of Heal Me, Love Me

I stopped short, ready to tell him to move, but the grin hit me first. To my surprise, Nolan Bradford, an Air Force friend I’d gotten close to while stationed in San Antonio, stood in front of me. He wore a short-sleeved button-down left open over a white T-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops, and his hair was longer than it’d been in San Antonio, darker at the sides with blond highlights through the top, and the change suited him. Bradford had always been confident, but this version of him seemed even more comfortable in his own skin.

“Bradford? Damn, dude, how are you?” I asked, reaching out to give him a bro hug.

He wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, Cross. I’m good, man.”

“What the hell are you doing in Tampa?” We pulled apart.

“Trying not to starve.” He held up the receipt in his hand. “But earlier, flight training.”

“You’re flying now?”

“Working on it, but nobody’s handing me passengers yet.” He glanced toward the counter as another bag was set down, then looked back at me. “I had no idea you were here until a few days ago. A guy in my ground school showed me the fight announcement and asked if I knew you because he looked you up and saw the Air Force stuff.”

“And?”

“I said unfortunately.”

I laughed. “Asshole.”

“I think you mean charming.” He grabbed his order from the counter and tipped his head toward the patio. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah.”

We took a table outside, where Bradford unwrapped a chicken wrap while I opened my bowl.

“You still steal everyone’s food?” I asked.

“Only from people I like.” He pointed to my container. “Are those plantains?”

“No.”

“That sounded like a yes.” He reached over and took one anyway. “Quality control.”

I stared at him. “Seriously?”

He ate it, then nodded as if he’d done me a favor. “Safe.”

“You haven’t changed much.”

“I’ve changed plenty.” He took a bite of his food. “But I’m still just as delightful.”

I shook my head, but I was smiling. “So, flight training?”

“I got out a few months ago and moved here before I could talk myself into going back to Maine and doing something safer.”

“You spent years in the back of an aircraft and decided that wasn’t enough?”

He grinned around a mouthful. “Pretty much. I liked being a loadmaster because the crew was good, the work kept me busy, and I loved being in the air, but after a while, being close to the cockpit wasn’t the same as being in it.”

“That’s a big change.”

“It is.” He took a drink, then set it down between us. “But I was tired of the Air Force owning every next step: where I lived, when I left, and how long I stayed gone. I’m proud of what I did, but I wanted the sky without the orders. You get it. You got out.”

“Yeah, I understand.” I took a bite of chicken. “You like it?”

“Flying?” He nodded, with no joke attached. “I love it.”

“How long are you in Tampa?” I asked.