Page 120 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"And?"

"They stopped complaining."

Maddy laughs.

"That good?"

"No. They were afraid I'd never cook again."

"Smart men."

I trace my thumb over the edge of my glass. "After that, it became a thing. If we'd had a bad stretch, I'd cook. Somebody had a birthday, I'd cook. Somebody was missing home, I'd find out what his mother or grandmother used to make and do my best."

I stop.

"It surprised me how much it mattered." Maddy's smile is gone now. Not because she's sad. Because she understands. "A smell. A certain spice. A dish somebody recognized. Something that reminded them there was still a world outside wherever we happened to be." I look at her. "And for an hour or so, sometimes less, the guys would talk about home. Their families. The places they wanted to go when they got back."

My thumb moves slowly against her hand.

"And somewhere in there, cooking started feeling good again."

Maddy's fingers tighten around mine.

"When Jack called about Oakridge Veterans Farm, I came. At first I was supposed to help him get the place running. He had the land and the beginning of an idea. A place where veterans could work, recover, figure out what came next. In the beginning I did whatever needed doing. I was Jack's partner, his right hand, the cook, maintenance, whatever the day required." I pause. "Then I started thinking about what we were buying. What we could grow ourselves. What restaurants might buy from us. How we could turn part of the land into something that helped support the program instead of constantly chasing donations."

"One thought led to another. We could grow it. We could sell what we didn't use. Restaurants wanted local produce. The income could go back into the program."

"The farm-to-table program grew from there."

Maddy looks around the restaurant.

"And now your food is here."

"Our produce."

"Your idea."

"One of them."

Her gaze returns to me.

"You built something beautiful here, Javier."

The words land somewhere I wasn't prepared for. Maybe because she isn't talking about vegetables. I don't know what to say, so I just hold her hand. She lets me. That's becoming one of my favorite things about her.

Dessert arrives a few minutes later, and we share it.

My phone stays quiet through dinner. Hers doesn't. It buzzes against the table halfway through dessert. She glances at the screen, and something changes. Small enough that most people probably wouldn't notice. I do.

"Julian?"

She looks up.

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

The phone stops. A few seconds later, it starts again. Maddy exhales and silences it.