Page 9 of The Arrangement

“I see. Thank you both for your service. And does Sergeant Gallagher have a first name?” Ms. Judy batted her lashes, and I’d eat my left bootafterwalking a day in a swamp if Marc didn’t know what was going on.

Someone rang a bell and called out a number in the background. “That’s us. Sorry, Ms. Judy. We’ll have to catch up another time.” Marc nudged me in the side, and I was more than happy to follow him to the pickup counter to retrieve-

“What is this?” I asked, dubiously eyeing the fried golden balls beside a fillet I hoped was covered in seasoning and not straight-up char.

Marc barked a laugh, while a dark-skinned, portly man behind the counter glowered darkly. “That, son, is the best goddarn blackened catfish this side of the Mississippi. Caught fresh this mornin’ and cooked to order. Now git to gittin’ before I tell Tallulah you’re bad-mouthing her specialty.”

“Aw, ease up, Earl. He’s from up north. Likewayup north,” Marc intervened, picking up the other plate, which had the more predictably fried fish I’d been expecting.

Earl harrumphed, clearly unimpressed. “A Yank. Shoulda known.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be in town a bit helping me out at the shop. I’ll be sure to keep him in line.” Marc was still grinning broadly when he shot me a wink. A shot of pure lust jolted down my spine, and I had to resist the urge to wink back. It didn’t matter how much I’d like it to be true, there was no way Marc was openly flirting with me.

“See that you do,” Earl said ominously before turning back to the counter.

“You’re fixin’ up your aunt’s old place?” Ms. Judy asked when we turned around. Only a hasty step back—and literally years of military training—prevented me from upending the fresh plate of piping hot food all over her neat blouse.

“Didn’t I mention? My days in the Army are over. I’m staying. For good this time.”

“Hallelujah!” Ms. Judy shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t wait for choir practice tomorrow. Barbra Jean is going to eat her knitting needles when she learns I heard it first. And sweet baby Jesus, little Margaret is going to lose her mind when I tell her you’re back for good. Though she’s not so little anymore. Her mama’s done raised her right. She’s a might good girl. Even heads up the charity committee and teaches Sunday school at church. I’ll be sure to let her know you said ‘Hello’.” She patted Marc’s cheek, then swanned out of the restaurant, tossing us a little finger wave before the door shut behind her.

“Come on, let’s grab a seat before someone else decides to start a reunion.”

I glanced out the front windows at the gorgeous day beyond. “Why don’t we sit outside?”

Marc was silent as he contemplated the suggestion, then he stepped toward the side door that led to a small covered patio I hadn’t noticed. “Why the hell not? It’s not too hot yet, and the fans should help keep the mosquitoes in check.”

I chuckled as I slid into the plastic chair. “Is that something I should be worried about?”

“If you plan to be outside for any length of time, yeah. Mosquitoes can get real bad ‘round here and while I know neither of us is a stranger to intense heat, it’s a different animal down south. Heatstroke is no joke. So drink up,” he said, pushing a tall glass of ice water toward me.

“Understood, Specialist Weathers.”

He grimaced. “Sorry about that. You said you didn’t want to do the whole rank business, and there I go shining a magnifying glass on you. I just…” He rolled his shoulders and picked up the pre-wrapped utensils provided with the plate.

“You don’t like being the center of attention,” I filled in for him. He glanced up sharply, and there it was again–thatlook. The one that made me want to protect him, to keep him safe from the world.

“Yeah,” he finally said, looking away with a self-deprecating laugh. “Kinda why I opted to specialize in logistics. I’d rather be behind the scenes.”

“Whereas I’ve had a bit of a hero complex my whole life.” Though the urge to protect had never been as strong as it was around Marc.

Marc looked at me thoughtfully. “Except you don’t like it when people call you a hero.”

I followed his lead and ripped open the plastic utensils, keeping my focus on them instead of him. “Doing the right thing shouldn’t be exceptional. I’d rather live in a world without heroes where people just did what was right.” I sighed heavily, bracing myself for the ribbing that inevitably followed whenever I voiced these sentiments. “I know. It’s a stupid dream.”

He surprised me by shaking his head. “It might still be a dream, but it’s not stupid.” He held my gaze for a long second, and I felt myself leaning forward. When was the last time someone had reallylistenedto me and not judged me or found me wanting? “Now, about this catfish,” he declared, breaking the odd trance I’d fallen under.

“I gotta say, I do feel a bit catfished,” I said, tilting my plate toward him and raising an eyebrow. His rich laugh went a long way toward easing the intensity that had emerged.

“Okay, confession time.”

You actually like dudes and would totally be down for fooling around while I’m here.

“Not everything that’s amazing down south is fried, and there’s no choosing between Tallulah’s catfish. I normally get both and then split them with my sister, since we’d visit GreatAunt Petunia together. So since my dumbass went and ordered like I always do, I’ll give you the choice: blackened or fried?”

I smiled at him, kind of loving how he’d inadvertently included me in something routine for him. “Well, if there’s no choosing, I don’t see any reason to start now.” I sliced my blackened fish and deposited half on his paper plate. The grin that brightened his face seriously tested my earlier resolve to lay off the flirting, and the leering, and the hoping. Fuck. I wasn’t even a whole twenty-four hours into this. How was I supposed to survive a whole summer?

Chapter 7