Page 27 of Midnight Creed

“And have meals together and live—what is it—about 100 feet away from each other?”

“And,” Benny joined in. “You’re really easy on the eyes.”

Again, Brodie looked from one man to the other, trying to decide if they were serious. Then she shook her head and smiled. “Right.”

They were messing with her. Sometimes she was slow at getting their humor, but she’d seen them do the same thing with Jason.

No way Taylor felt threatened by her. Just the idea was silly.

18

Walter’s Canteen

Pensacola Beach, Florida

Taylor shoved her cell phone to the edge of the table. She needed to stop. She glanced at Will sitting across from her, his eyes glued to the three hotdog surfers fighting the December waves. She grabbed the phone again. This time she shut it off, then reached over and dropped it into the tote bag she’d left on the extra chair between them.

She did need to stop it. Why did it drive her so crazy? She and Jason were not officially in a relationship. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Instead, he’d gone overboard trying to do everything expected. And yet, it bugged her.

No, that was too mild.

Fact was, it pissed her off that he preferred playing poker with his buddies when he could have been here having dinner with her and Will.

He claimed he didn’t prefer playing poker. It was a commitment he’d made to spend time once a week with these men. She understood that it was more therapy than some drunken excuse for them to get away from their significant others. Benny and Colfax didn’t have wives or girlfriends. The Segway House didn’t even allow alcohol.

Damn it! She was becoming one of those women she despised. If she was being honest with herself, she’d have to admit that it wasn’t about the weekly poker game. It hadn’t been a problem before. Not until recently, when the guys started including Brodie.

Jason never hid the inclusion. On the contrary, he seemed pleased that it was helping her get out and socialize. Put aside her fears. Give her a sense of self-confidence. Yada, yada...oh, she was tired of hearing about it.

Maybe she was being insensitive. She knew some of the tragedy Brodie had suffered. She had been taken as an eleven-year-old and held captive for years. What was it? Fifteen or sixteen?

To be fair, Brodie never played the victim-card. The first time she met her, Taylor knew nothing of her past. And what she saw was a tall, willowy, young woman with a natural beauty and gorgeous eyes that listened intently. What was worse, she was one of those women who didn’t know she was pretty. Or care how she looked or dressed. How could anyone compete with that?

Jason didn’t see it. Not yet.

But Taylor had noticed the way Brodie looked at him.

Taylor shook her head. She really needed to stop thinking about it. Jason was a nice distraction, but she needed to focus on Will. He was what mattered most.

He had his sketch pad out and his head down. One hand held his marker, the other blindly fetched popcorn shrimp, bringing them to his mouth without taking his focus off his drawing.

“Can I see?” she asked.

“Not yet.” He switched up markers. But the other hand continued with the shrimp.

“How about we go shopping tomorrow and get you those new sneakers you’ve been wanting?”

This earned her a look up. “I thought I had to wait for Christmas.”

“Maybe you’re getting other presents.” She pointed to his worn, dusty pair under the table. “You need new ones.”

He smiled—a wide, happy smile—then went back to sketching. No other trace of suspicion that his mother could be overcompensating because something might screw up their Christmas.

She sat back. Forced herself to take a deep breath, then let her eyes wander out across the water. The emerald waves sparkled in the last rays of sunset. There were very few diners on the patio. Too chilly for most. But Will loved it out here and never forgot his jacket so they could have their once-a-week dinner watching the sun go down. Walter always saved them this table. “The best view in the house,” he told Will.

Walter Bailey, the owner, was a retired Navy commander. He wore jumpsuits—sometimes tan, green, blue, even red—reminiscent of the ones he probably wore as a Navy pilot. His full head of hair was more white than gray. That, along with a slow, saunter and arthritic-bent fingers were the only signs of his age. He had a laugh that was full of life, deep-throated and genuine. When he called her “a lady,” it was out of respect, an old-world gentleman. She was glad that he and Will had become instant friends.

This was a good place for her and Will to start their new life together. She didn’t care if Dora didn’t approve of her too-small apartment above a marina shop. Harold was another good man. Another veteran. Taylor had run from military men when she came back to the States. In an effort to rid her mind and stop her nightmares, she thought it would help to be surrounded by people who didn’t share the same experiences. Only recently did she realize her mistake. Those shared experiences and talking about them were what she needed.