Page 7 of Love, Always and Forever
Chapter 3
Mikhail pulled into his driveway with his bones aching and his eyelids scraping across his irises like 50-grit sandpaper. The last time he’d felt this bad he’d been on a forced march in full gear across some of the worst territory Afghanistan could offer. For a second, he was surprised to find himself dressed in jeans and a faded Seahawks T-shirt instead of a uniform. Damn, he hated when he got caught between reality and his past. Most of the time he managed to shove the worst of the memories to the back of his mind, but they had a tendency to come creeping out whenever he got this tired.
His mood improved as soon as he spotted a batch of cinnamon rolls sitting on his porch. He dropped his duffel and picked up the plate. Hot damn, they were still warm. After peeling off the plastic, he studied the possibilities. He bypassed both the smallest and the largest, instead zeroing in on the one with the most icing. After last night, he needed a sugar rush just to make it through his front door.
He practically inhaled the roll, savoring the yeasty goodness and the perfect balance between sugar, cinnamon, and maybe just a hint of cloves. So delicious. Kudos to Amy. There weren’t many people who could give his mother a run for her money when it came to baking, but evidently Amy was one of them.
Holding the plate in a death grip, he unlocked the door and kicked his duffel into the dim interior of his entryway. He followed it inside and slammed the door shut. Breathing came more easily once he had the solid thickness of the heavy oak between him and the rest of the world. He had one thing left to do before he jumped into the shower and crawled into bed.
After punching in Amy’s number on his cellphone, he waited impatiently for her to pick up. She finally answered on the fifth ring. “Hi, Mikhail. I’m driving, so I shouldn’t stay on the phone long.”
He could barely hear her over the road noise in the background. Most likely she was speaking into one of those speakers mounted on the dash. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for the cinnamon rolls.”
Then it occurred to him that maybe he had jumped the gun. If Amy was away from home, then maybe she hadn’t been the one who’d left the rolls on his doorstep. To his relief, she immediately said, “I tried a new recipe, so let me know what you think. They’re my way of apologizing for ducking out on our work party this morning. My mom had to come to Seattle for an appointment and asked me to meet her for lunch. I should be home around two, so I can help after that.”
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as they talked. Something about that slight huskiness in her voice soothed away the last bit of his tension. “Perfect. I need to grab some sleep before I should be allowed around any power tools anyway.”
“Great. Give me a call when you’re ready. See you later.”
“Will do.”
They’d said everything that needed to be said, but he found himself reluctant to hang up. “Where are you going to have lunch?”
“A place I’ve never been. Mom said they serve breakfast all day and are famous for their scrambles.”
“You’ll have to let me know how it goes. I’m always looking for new places to try.”
“I will.”
Before he could think of anything else to say, she said, “Look, I hate to hang up on you, but I’m pulling into the restaurant, and I see my mom. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay?”
It would have to be. “Sure thing. And if you want to spend the day with your mom, don’t rush back. I can handle the work on the fence by myself.”
Not that he wanted to. He got a kick out of watching Amy swinging that hammer she was so proud of.
“She has to get back home in time to cook dinner. Heaven forbid my brothers or father actually fend for themselves.”
He laughed. “My mom prefers to do the cooking, too. She says it’s because of the way we destroy the kitchen whenever we take over.”
Amy’s laughter rang out crisp and clear. “There is that.”
The sound helped soothe a few of his rough edges. “In our defense, she made sure we all knew how to cook well enough to keep from starving to death or having to live on fast food. I make a mean goulash. Maybe I’ll make it for you sometime.”
“I’d like that. Oops, Mom is headed this way, so I’d better go. See you later, Mikhail.”
Yeah, she would. Before then, he really needed to grab some sleep. He ate one more of the cinnamon rolls on the way to the kitchen and another on his way back down the hall to the bathroom to take that much needed shower.
As he stripped off, he caught sight of his image in the mirror over the sink and realized he was smiling. Funny how that seemed to happen every time he came in contact with Amy. He didn’t know quite what to make of it, but he was too tired to worry about it. Instead, he stepped into the stinging spray counting down the seconds until he could get horizontal.
—
Up until this point, their outing had been pleasant as her mother caught Amy up on everything that had happened since they’d last spoken. But now, she silently watched as her mother worked herself up to say something that she knew wouldn’t make Amy happy. Well, she wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Instead, she quietly sipped her tea and waited. When her mother drew a deep breath and let it out slowly through her mouth, Amy braced herself.
“So you’re being careful not to overdo, aren’t you?” The question was accompanied by an apologetic smile. “I don’t mean to upset you, honey, really. It’s just that your dad and your brothers worry.”
Mom might not mean to upset her, but she went right ahead and did it anyway. It was one more reminder that Amy had done the right thing by putting some distance between her and her overprotective family. Rather than answer the question, she hit the ball back over the net squarely into her mother’s court.
“So how is Dad’s diet going? I assume he’s cut back on red meat and carbs like the doctor told him to do five years ago and every year since. I was thinking about buying him some of those cute little running shorts since I know he’s exercising regularly, too.”
