Page 24 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

There was a beat of silence as Mr. Simpson considered him. “What can I help you with?”

Gary felt his stomach twist, but he forged ahead. “Well, I’d like to… discuss asking for her…” he began, nerves stealing his words. The weight of what he was about to say hung in the air like the softest snowfall.

But before he could get it all out, Mrs. Simpson gasped loudly, clutching a hand to her chest. “Oh, land sakes alive!” she cried, swaying dramatically before sinking into a faint. Gary moved quickly, catching her just in time, holding her steady as Mr. Simpson let out an exasperated sigh, gently patting her cheek to rouse her.

It was obvious the woman was faking because she shook her head ‘no,’ and then a frown line appeared between her eyebrows. Mr. Simpson looked at him, met his gaze, and then rolled his eyes before waving him inside since he still had the woman in his arms. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the cold winter wind whistling through the trees, the scent of pine and holiday warmth from inside the house mingling with the crispness of the night air. And in the middle of it all, Gary felt his heart swell, a feeling of quiet determination settling over him. Because, somehow, in the chaotic whirlwind of laughter, nerves, and glittering holiday cheer, he knew he was right where he was supposed to be.

“Sir, I’d like to talk to you about your daughter’s future,” Gary began, offering a disarming smile as he caught the surprise in the older man’s eyes – still holding her mother’s ‘limp’ form in his arms. He felt her tense slightly and almost burst out laughing wildly.

Apparently, acting ran in the family.

“And please, don’t faint—I don’t think I can carry both of you inside.” He chuckled, hoping a touch of humor would soften the moment.

Krista’s father sized him up, eyebrows raised, but an approving glint danced in his gaze. “I think that’s a fine idea, son. Have you had supper yet?” His voice held a warmth that Gary hadn’t expected, and it steadied him.

“Thank you, sir, but please, call me Gary.”

“Gary,” he repeated with a nod. “Well, I was just putting on a fresh pot of coffee. No rush, are you?”

“Not at all, sir,” Gary replied, feeling his nerves ease.

“Good, good,” he said thoughtfully. “Krista won’t be back until six, so we’ve got some time. Let’s sit and talk a bit, just us men. Coffee sound good?”

“Fantastic, sir.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black, sir.”

The man paused mid-pour, studying him for a moment. “Military man, I take it?”

Gary nodded, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

He chuckled. “Well, I served myself for a few years, back in the tail end of the Vietnam War, stationed out in U-Tapao, Guam.” He nodded toward Gary’s neck. “I hear the jingle of those dog tags of yours… figured either that or you came here with bells on.”

Gary laughed, his respect for Krista’s father deepening. “A little of both, I suppose.”

The older man smirked, pursing his lips with a thoughtful expression, and there was a gentleness in his eyes that hinted at fond memories and a little mischief. “Well, Gary, glad to have you here.” He turned and called into the house, “Honey, if you’re done pretending to faint, would you like a cup with some of that gingerbread creamer you love?”

A faint groan sounded from a nearby armchair, and a petite woman slowly sat up, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes twinkled with both humor and approval as she looked at Gary with a smile that could only mean one thing—he’d passed some sort of test.

“Gingerbread spice,” she murmured, cracking one eye open, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she met Gary’s gaze. “I like you already. Noble, strong, and polite enough to catch afainting woman,” she teased. “Very nice touch. Do you know, my mother did the exact same thing to my Martin here, back when he came to ask about marrying me? She looked at him like he was already family.”

Gary chuckled, feeling the weight of the moment lift as he took in her kindness. “Did she now?”

“Oh, she sure did,” she replied, her voice tinged with the nostalgia of a happy memory. “God rest Mama’s sweet soul. She took one look at Martin and called him ‘son’ right then and there.”

“Well,” Gary said with a gentle laugh, “I hope I can live up to that.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she replied, reaching over to pat his hand with warmth and a smile that said more than words ever could. “Now, how about a cookie with that coffee, sweetie?” She gestured to the table. “Come, sit down with us. We’ll all have a little chit-chat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gary said, settling into the cozy space, feeling strangely at home. Here, among Krista’s family, he sensed that he was becoming a part of something bigger, something deeply meaningful—and he couldn’t have been happier.

Ten minutes after arriving,Gary found himself in the living room, firmly in the hot seat. Krista’s parents were warm yet unwavering, their questions sharp and straight to the point. Her father eyed him carefully, his gaze like a steady searchlight trained to find any potential cracks. Krista's mom observed with a subtle, knowing smile as if she already knew what he’d say next. He couldn’t help but feel how alike they were tohis own family—fiercely loyal, deeply caring, and unabashedly protective.

They reminded him of home.

“So, you’re in the Air Force,” her dad started, his voice steady, assessing. “What is it you do, exactly?”

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