The Officer Says "I Do" (9 page)

He propped his chin on the top of her head. “I’m glad you stopped by.” He gave her a quick kiss on the nose before dropping his arms and opening the door. Madison stood on the other side, arms crossed, foot tapping.

“Ya done yet?” she huffed.

“Bug off, squirt. It’s your day off. Not like you had something better to do.”

“Yeah. Day off. Meaning I have to use today to get all the crap done I don’t have time for on the days I’m not off.” She grabbed Skye’s forearm and started walking toward the outer office door. “We’ll see you at home,” she called over her shoulder.

“Bye!” Skye yelled as the door to the outer office was shutting behind her.

Tim stood for a moment, watching the two women disappear through the window in the office door.

“Who was that, sir?”

Tim glanced to his left to see PFC Malone staring the same direction, eyes all but bugging out of his head.

He rolled his eyes. “Back to your desk, Marine.”

***

“O’Shay, you’ve always impressed me.” Colonel Blackwater leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the armrest, fingers steepled in front of him. “I’ve enjoyed our discussions. I’ve admired your work ethic. And nobody can complain about your attributes. Fourth generation Marine. Top of your class at the Naval Academy. Breezed through TBS.”

Tim felt his gut tighten. This sounded very much like it was leading up to a huge “but.”

“However—”

Close enough.

“—I am more than a little surprised to find you married.” He leaned forward over his desk. “Is this a new development?”

“It’s, well…” Tim took a deep breath. He had to remember that he’d done nothing wrong. Unconventional, sure. But wrong? No. “We’re newlyweds, sir.”

“I haven’t seen your wife at any functions yet. Did she not want to attend things while you two were dating?”

“She lived out of state until we married, sir.” Total truth.

“I see.” Clearly he didn’t, given the frown that pulled at the CO’s mouth. “Well, I hope she feels comfortable in the battalion. Gets involved. Joins the wives’ club. That sort of thing. You know how I feel about spouses plugging into the available resources. And it’s my personal opinion that spouse support can be the major difference between a Marine’s success or failure in his career.”

Tim disagreed with that thought. What did it matter if his wife went to a spouse meeting once a month? Besides, Skye didn’t sound much like a joiner to Tim. But now was
really
not the time to bring up her unique perspective on life. “I’ll definitely bring it up with her.” He could just tack it onto the list of things they had to discuss. Starting with “What’s your middle name?”

He nodded sharply. “I hope so. I count on you to be a good example to the younger Marines. And your marriage is a part of that. Setting up good family standards will help solve any possible future problems. I think everyone knows how I feel about family life and its possible consequences in the workplace. A distracted Marine is a dead Marine.”

Tim hated that anything in his personal life was considered a requirement for work. Not all commands ran like this. But Blackwater was big on knowing everyone’s shit, and a failing family would be seen to him as a major sign of weakness. But instead of telling the CO to mind his own business, he simply said, “Yes, sir.” Because what else could you tell your boss?

He’d have liked a little more credit than this. He wasn’t a guy to run wild on the weekends, to get speeding tickets every other night, or get tossed in the drunk tank repeatedly. He wasn’t filing for bankruptcy or defaulting on child support. He just got married. And maybe it was a little like tooting his own horn, but Tim thought he was a guy who was steady enough in his work that he could make sure a problem at home wouldn’t become a major disaster at work.

Apparently the CO held everyone to the same standard.

Tim walked back to his own office with cold sweat pooling in his lower back. He hadn’t expected to have to explain his marriage so quickly. Easing in would have been much more welcome.

Guess it was just time to take the plunge and hope the waves didn’t knock him on his ass.

Skye wiped her hands on the dishcloth and surveyed the table set for two. The place was a total bachelor pad, with no napkins—paper or cloth—and she couldn’t find anything that remotely resembled a vase in which to put the flowers she’d picked up at a market with Madison earlier, along with a few food items for herself. So she’d settled for a plastic pitcher for the bouquet and set the table with the paper plates and plasticware, with squares of paper towel for napkins. She winced at the waste she could only imagine he’d accumulated up to now.

But as Madison pointed out, she was too busy to care what she ate off of most the time, and Tim was, well, a guy.

He did, however, have a set of steak knives and some of those little corn holders. Skye laughed to herself. Priorities.

While helping Skye find everything in the kitchen, Madison assured her that she had actual matching dishes and silverware, but she’d never unpacked her things when she moved in. Though that turned out to be lucky given the fact that she hadn’t stayed in Tim’s place long.

Madison, much to Skye’s combined disappointment and delight, had cried off for dinner. Skye wasn’t buying the “I forgot I promised to meet a coworker” excuse. Madison was playing matchmaker. Skye just couldn’t decide if the added pressure was amusing or distressing.

Could someone be a matchmaker if the couple was already matched?

“Squirt? Are you here?”

“It’s just me!” Skye called out from the kitchen. “Madison forgot she had something to do so she took off.” She opened the fridge and leaned in to find the steaks and veggie kabobs that Madison put in to marinade earlier and backed out, only to bump into something.

“Oh!”

“Easy there.” Strong hands circled her waist and steadied her, then one took the dish of steaks from her hand. “I’ve got this.”

“Thank you.” Skye turned around and ended up staring at the word “O’Shay” stitched to Tim’s uniform. Had he gotten taller since she last saw him? No, her imagination was running away with her. She looked up all the way and asked, “Where’s your hat?”

“My hat?” His brows scrunched. “Oh. Right.” Tim stepped back and set the dish on the counter. “It’s actually called a cover. Any hat that I wear with my uniform is a cover.”

“Cover. Right.” She seriously needed that notebook to start taking notes. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if she stuck Post-its all over the house.

“I’m going to go upstairs and change. Then I’ll be back down to start up the grill.”

Skye nodded and watched as he left the kitchen. His boots, with their thick soles, should have made some serious noise on the hardwood, but she heard nothing. What she noticed was the way his butt looked in his pants. They were just tight enough to give her a good peep before he turned the corner and was out of sight.

Turning toward the fridge, she opened the door and stuck her head in to cool her flushing face. Her mother would roll her eyes if she knew how unbelievably turned on she was by the sight of a man in camouflage. She could hear the
tisk
tisk
now.

“A Marine? They shoot people, dear. That’s hardly an exercise in peace. They’re walking, talking killing machines.”

“Are you truly checking that man out? That’s objectifying him just like a man objectifies a poor woman forced to become an exotic dancer for money.”

“Why couldn’t you have met someone on the commune? A nice pacifist.”

Just imagine what she would say if Skye told her she’d
married
the killing machine. In a—gasp!—legally binding ceremony.

“Are you looking for something?”

Bang
.

“Ow!” Skye stood back and let the fridge door shut, holding the back of her head where she’d bashed it against the freezer door. She turned to glare at Tim, almost glad for the pain. It cast a nice haze over her lust, allowing her to look at him without blushing. The fact that he’d tossed on a T-shirt and baggy jeans helped too. “Do you use that sneaky tactic on terrorists?”

He gave her a wry grin. “Terrorists usually aren’t mumbling to themselves with their heads in the refrigerator. But if I found one in such a situation, sure. What are you looking for?”

“Oh. Um…” She grabbed the bowl of lettuce she’d washed earlier. “Just this.”

“Hmm. I’m going to get started at the grill. How do you like your steak done?”

“Uh, same as yours.” Did that sound right? He nodded and headed out the back door to the patio, so it must have sounded normal. Oh God. Was she really going to have to eat that? Okay. Sooner or later, she’d have to admit she really didn’t eat meat. Why hadn’t she said so already? How hard was that?
I’m a pseudo-vegetarian
. There. It’s not like she was admitting to leprosy.

Though she had a feeling that he-man out there might very well consider them one and the same.

This
isn’t going to start off well if you are constantly trying to impress him. That’s what people do when they’re dating. You’re not dating. You’re married. So start showing it all. Now.

She watched as he stepped out through the back door and onto the concrete patio to fire up the grill before turning and starting to set the table with foods Madison had assured her were Tim’s favorites.

His favorite foods. How he liked his steak cooked. How she didn’t want steak at all. Things people found out while they were dating. Things that were basic, didn’t require a second thought to a married couple.

They’d just have to figure it out as they went along. And she would have to stop hiding little details just to smooth things over. Skye rolled her shoulders and fought past the dread that tried to claw her down. This wasn’t a bad sign. This wasn’t the end of the world. They just went out of order a little bit. There had to be a reason for it.

Tim brought the steaks in sooner than she expected. They each filled their cups and sat down silently, as if not sure what to say to each other. Skye reached for her napkin, then halted. Did he pray before meals? She snuck a glance at Tim, who seemed to be staring at his drink cup, at the same impasse she was.

What did Tasha usually call this moment? Right. Awkward turtle.

“Thanks for cooking the meat,” she said. Lame. So lame. Then she reached for her own water and took a drink.

The tension leaked out of Tim’s body. He settled more solidly into his chair and grabbed his own cup. “No problem. It’s the only cooking I really do.” He grimaced at his kitchen. “Obviously. Are you much of a cook?”

Skye laughed as she started to cut her salad. “I’m proficient with a microwave. My mother did most of the cooking, and Dad helped out. I just didn’t pick up on much while I lived with them, I guess. In college, I ate dorm food. Then in Vegas, I usually took home a to-go box from the restaurant most times I worked and just ate junk the rest of the time.”

“Ah. So no four-course meal tomorrow night?” Tim asked, his eyes teasing.

“Probably not, unless you want tofu and veggies with every course,” Skye replied, reaching for one of the vegetable kabobs.

The horror on Tim’s face was almost comical. “Tofu? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Tofu’s not so bad, you know. If it’s cooked properly, half the time you can’t tell.”

“If you can’t tell the difference, why not eat the real thing?” he asked between bites.

“Well, because some people don’t eat meat.”

Tim glanced between her plate—which only had salad and the veggies—and the second steak on the platter he’d brought in. “Is that why the steak is still there and not in front of you?”

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m a pseudo-vegetarian.”

“A pseudo-vegetarian.” Tim looked like she just told him she was actually a robot bent on world domination.

“I’m not über-sensitive. I wear leather. I eat eggs and drink milk. I just don’t cook meat, or eat it most of the time. I avoid ordering it in restaurants. But I’m also not so hardcore that I bring my own tofu dish to dinner parties. I’ll eat a chicken dish every so often. And when I was younger, I would get a craving so bad that I’d dream about dancing Happy Meals… much to my parents’ dismay.”

“Who I assume are full-on vegetarians.”

“Hardcore, bingo.”

“Huh.” Tim sat back and chewed another bite of steak for a while. “Well, this is new. I guess that second steak is mine then, right?”

That was it? No questions about why? No mocking or saying that it was weird? “Yeah. That’s yours.”

“Great.” Tim stabbed the other steak and deposited it on his plate, then dug into his salad with gusto. “Gotta say, can’t really relate there. I was raised on meat and potatoes. My mom’s an amazing cook. She’d give Martha Stewart a run for her money.”

Though Skye was positive it wasn’t meant to be a jab, it still stung. But she cheerfully asked, “Tell me about your parents.”

“Dad was in the Marines,” Tim began, talking between bites. “Naval Academy grad like me, total warrior. I think he was my hero before I knew the definition of the word. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.” He chuckled. “I’m sure most boys say that about their dads at some point in their childhood. But I never grew out of it. So I followed in his footsteps. Did the Academy thing, commissioned in the Marines, and went from there. He was a pilot though. So not quite the same. But he was happy.”

The pride was so strong in his voice, Skye felt a little choked up. “How about your mom?”

Tim’s smile softened. “I used to think she was Superwoman. My dad was gone a lot. Training, deployments, missions, whatever. But she was a rock. She kept things as stable as she could. Always there for sports. Never dropped the ball. Strong woman. Never got overly emotional, never had a breakdown.”

Emotional. Didn’t that just describe Skye to a T? The inadequacies piled up. Skye mentally pictured shoving each of the imagined shortfalls into a steel box and shutting the lid, then pushing the box off to the side. She was overreacting. “Where do they live?”

“Dad retired and they moved back to Wisconsin. My grandparents live there. Or they do now. Grandpa was a Marine too.” The pleasure of carrying on the Marine tradition practically radiated off of him. “What do your parents do?”

Skye stood up, wanting some more ice for her glass. The scrape of Tim’s chair startled her.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at her, down at his feet, then back at her again. “Standing?”

“I see that. Did you need something?”

“No, I’m just… I mean that’s…” He looked confused. Adorably confused, like a puppy that didn’t understand why its owner was displeased with the chewed up shoe it presented. “Men stand when a woman stands. It’s how I was raised,” he said finally.

“Oh. Huh.” She walked to the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice, then reached in the fridge for the filter pitcher.

“Did your dad not do this?”

Skye paused in putting the pitcher back. “Do what? Stand when my mom or I left the table?” She scoffed and walked back. “No. Smacks of inequality.” She sat down and dug back in, choosing to ignore the curious look her husband was giving her. But she couldn’t ignore his question.

“Inequality how?”

“Just in that it makes the woman appear, I don’t know, superior somehow. More worthy of respect. You don’t expect me to stand when you leave the table, do you?”

“No.” Tim looked offended, and Skye had to laugh. She rubbed his forearm and squeezed.

“And I don’t want you to have to do it either.”

“But I want to.” He looked so lost, completely confused how to work himself out of the mess.

Skye sighed. “I’ll just pretend that you’re having a leg spasm and had to stand up.”

He tilted his head to one side as he picked up his drink cup. “What do your parents do anyway?”

“They own a store.” Okay. That wasn’t going to cut it. He’d been upfront with her, and she needed to do the same. She wasn’t ashamed. So time to air it all out. “Look. Here’s the thing.”

“Oh, boy,” he muttered under his breath.

She ignored that. “My parents are basically what you would call, um, modern-day hippies.”

Her husband’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. He stared at her, eyes wide. “Hippies? Like… hippies? Peace, love, protests, weed?”

“Not weed. My parents don’t do drugs. At least, not anymore. What my parents did in their youth before I was born isn’t my business.” It shouldn’t annoy her he had the same stereotype everyone else did… that all hippies were drugged-out potheads. But it did. “But the rest of it, yeah. Basically. They’re just pacifists who like causes, like to live as naturally as possible, and without government interference.”

Tim’s eyes glazed over, and he stared into the distance as if he was still processing. “And so… uh…”

“They live in Texas, on a commune that’s in a rural area. They run a health food store that offers mostly organic, all-natural products. And they actually have a very successful Internet business selling organic herbs and spices.”

“A commune, huh. Internet business?”

Skye smiled. “Seems a little at odds, doesn’t it? My parents are hippies, not idiots. They saw the organic market booming and decided to cash in. They know their food, they know their business. And they do well. They just prefer to do well where they are, with other like-minded folks.”

“And you grew up on this commune?”

“Yes. In a house, not a burnt out van that looks like the Mystery Machine van from
Scooby
Doo
. Think of the commune as just a rural neighborhood, a little removed from city life.”

Tim nodded, but she could tell his head was spinning, trying to take it all in.

Subject change needed. “I didn’t cause any problems showing up at work, did I?”

“No. Not at all. If you want to come see me, then come see me.”

Relieved, Skye grabbed a few bowls and stood up, patiently ignoring when he stood up as well, and headed to the kitchen to clean. He followed with an armload of plates, which were promptly dumped into the trash.

“Not exactly eco-friendly, but I won’t miss washing dishes tonight,” she teased. He smiled and she felt better. So the night wasn’t a home run. But it was a start.