Page 14 of When in December

Long eyelashes peppered her cheeks. “Yes. They were supposed to be done last week, but it doesn’t seem like that’s the case. I’ll need to call them to come back to finish the bathrooms and the kitchen, among other things. They were supposed to be farther along by now. I’ll be putting in the order for the rest of the house now that I’ve seen it too.”

“Order for the rest of the house?”

Why did I feel like this chick was speaking a different language?

“Furniture,” she clarified. “Is there anything specific you think you’ll need? If there’s anything, let me know. Then, I’ll be working through the holiday decorating and?—”

“Decorating. That’s what you do?”

Up until now, the homemaker had been looking around the space—anywhere but at me. Now, she lifted her eyes and nodded. “Part of what I do.”

“They pay you to do that?”

Her face screwed up as she looked away from me again.

For some reason when she did, I wanted to reach out and turn her chin back toward me. I wanted her to look me in the eye instead of away.

Did I frighten her? Maybe it would be a good thing if I did. It would better if she knew to leave me the hell alone and out of whatever scheme my sister had tried to come up with to make this some big holiday celebration that I wanted no part of.

I was the big bad wolf. She was Little Red Knit Socks, walking straight into my den.

“And events. Sometimes. Not lately.”

I snorted a short, unamused laugh. “Impressive.”

The homemaker bit the inside of her cheek, though her face revealed nothing of the frustration I’d expected to be there at my comment. “I’ll send along the tentative schedule to you. That way, you’re not surprised by anything. I’m confident that this project will come together perfectly. Thanks for not calling the police or anything on me.”

“Then, even more people would show up?” I chuckled. “Yeah. No, thanks.”

“Right. All right then.”

Now, get out.

Light brows furrowed. Without any further ceremony or rambling, the flighty blonde headed back the way she had come through the kitchen. I followed her out, making sure she made it as she slipped her shoes back on and donned her oversize puffer coat.

“Have a good rest of your day, Aaron—Mr. Hayes.”

The heavy door shut behind her.

Finally, I was left alone. Again.

I stood frozen in the cold and empty living room, listening to the echo of her lapsed presence.

“Aaron,” she had said. Hadn’t she?

When I had started in the military from the beginning, my name had changed. I was no longer Aaron. Nearly everyone was called by their last name, unless given a call sign or they were special.

And I quickly learned from training and becoming the best soldier I could be in the Army—from basic to infantry to special forces—I wasn’t special. None of us were.

I learned that on day one—from the time I got off the plane to where I was supposed to report alongside my friend, Barrett. The tall, lanky blond kid had shown me around my first day ofschool after I moved to the cabin with my grandmother outside the city. Eventually, he enlisted right alongside me. He said that he always planned on doing it. It wasn’t just because I had brought it up or because we joked that he had to if I beat him at the push-up competition, which I did, even if my arms felt sore for days after.

Barrett’s father was in the military. Barrett had lost his father, too, by then. His mother had still tried to convince him to stay home by the time basic training came around.

“Hayes!”

The deep voice of the sergeant still shocked my system whenever I remembered it. Raspy and guttural. The way his boots were always polished and most of all how his gravelly voice never had a volume lower than loud from day one.

“Looks like you didn’t get out of sharing your bunk yet. This private decided he didn’t need to follow direct orders and show up on time.” The sergeant, who all of us had already met—at the time, we were still slightly quaking in our newly issued boots at being called little girls or much worse—addressed me.

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