Page 11 of A Veteran's Desire

“Hah, you admit it was sabotage.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll admit that if you admit you like Grant.”

She raises her eyebrows expectantly. I’m not going to admit to liking Grant. He’s had plenty of opportunities to ask me out, and he hasn’t. Even when I flirted with him, wore a low-cut top, and hinted I liked the food at Pizza Feast. Nothing. I’m certainly not going to admit to liking a man who doesn’t reciprocate my feelings. Besides, I’m attracted to him. I wouldn’t say I like him.

“Anyone want more potatoes?”

I sit down at the table and offer the dish around, hoping to bring normality back to the dinner.

Rachel smirks. “Thought so. But if I had a Green Beret waiting out in the dark for me, I would not be in here eating mashed potatoes.”

“He’s ex-military, is he?” Pops leans the shotgun against the wall and Abby quietly squirrels it away and out of the room. “Where did he serve?”

I think back to the conversations with Grant over the past few months. They’re very few. Mostly he comes into the cafe, orders, then sits and reads for a while. Sometimes I’ll pour myself a coffee and take my break with him. He asks me questions aboutmyself, the cafe, the farm, and my family. But I realize I know very little about him.

“I’m not sure. West Africa, I think. He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“He doesn’t talk at all,” Rachel chimes in.

“Hmmm.” Pops takes his seat at the table, and Abby quietly removes the box of shells. “Well, don’t leave him out in the car. Invite him in.”

I almost choke on the mouthful of mashed potatoes. “What, in here?”

Pops glares at me. “We didn’t raise you to leave a veteran out in the cold. Especially one who’s looking out for my girls. We’ve got plenty of food. Go bring him inside.”

I try to picture Grant sitting around our dinner table. The silent, brooding ex-soldier wedged between trigger-happy Pops, smart-mouthed Rachel, and Sawyer and Liam, who seem adorable right up until bedtime, when meltdowns become a competitive sport.

The image is so absurd I almost laugh.

“I’ll set another place.” Abby pushes back her chair.

If I invite Grant into my house, I invite him into the chaos that is my family. I hate to admit how much I’ve enjoyed his attention on me in the cafe, where I’m confident and it’s my domain. The thought of having him in here is terrifying. But Pops is right. I can’t leave Grant out in the cold. I’m not sure how long he’s planning to sit out there. The least I can do is serve him a warm dinner.

A moment later, I’m pulling my coat around me as I approach his pickup. Grant sees me coming and steps out of the car.

“Everything okay?”

He has stubble on his chin, and his clothes are rumpled. I wonder how long he’s been out here. “You don’t have to watch over the house, you know.”

“I know.”

His gaze flicks to my lips and back to my eyes, and I wish I’d run a comb through my hair or at least checked that I don’t have gravy on my face.

“Pops wants to invite you in for dinner.”

He takes a step toward me, and I suck in a breath. He’s so close I have to tilt my head to see him.

“How about you? Do you want to invite me in?”

My heart’s beating against my chest so hard he must hear it, and my knees feel like they might give out. What is it about this man that makes me giddy whenever he’s close? The feeling is disconcerting, and I do what I always do. Deflect. It’s safer than admitting I like him.

“I suppose we should feed you. If you insist on following me around,” I tease.

His lips tug up in a small smile. “I insist.”

That small smile affects me more than it should, and my breath hitches. His gaze darts to my lips and I think he’s going to kiss me, but then he steps back and cold air rushes in between us.

“Lead the way.”