Page 23 of Luck Be Mine
Chapter Four
Thirteen Weeks Since Injury
◊ Homemaking 101 ◊
Two weeks later, Cait balanced carefully and checked the lasagna. She would not admit even with pain screaming through her shoulder and hip that she’d over done it trying to cook. Only having one hand to work with provoked her temper. She’d written out the recipe from memory and prepped everything in stages to make assembly easier. But physical therapy this afternoon had been strenuous, and the tiredness dogged her through the making process.
She used the oven like a worktable, putting the empty pan on the top rack and assembling the dish there with a lot of spills and swearing.
She watched the pasta bake. The aroma of successfully managing the preparation and baking of a perfect dinner spurred euphoria.
Now – the bubbling dish was stuck in the hot oven because she couldn’t lift it.
She leaned around the hot door, twisted the oven dial to off, and with an oven mitt on her good hand, coaxed the rack away from most of the heat.
She checked the clock and her phone for the twentieth time. Hunt hadn’t messaged. He was late. Was this the way it would be? Here, and not here?
“Fiddlesticks.” She rubbed her hungry stomach, swore at the hovering fatigue.
“Wait or not?” She tilted her head to check the silence. “Not, I guess. Although, how the hell would I know?” She had yet to figure out Hunt’s schedule, had no hope of staying or being awake for some of it, and she had no clue what was normal.Floundering with no understanding of SEAL wife duties or even wife rules, she reached for a paper plate.
She should have let Adele stay, but she wanted to cook in peace, and she wanted alone time with Hunt. Members of the team and their families were always visiting. Carter especially had made it his mission to track her progress. Jackie called on schedule, too. Was alone time too much to ask?
The key in the lock had her straightening and limping to the doorway of the kitchen. Hopefully, it was her husband and not someone more nefarious. She had no energy for that nonsense.
Hunt stopped inside the door, took a long breath, and double-checked the apartment number on the door.
Amused, she enjoyed his gorgeous face, his stature in uniform, and the bemused expression. It wasn’t often she saw confusion there. “It’s our apartment, frogman. I made lasagna.”
He shut the door and locked it. “You made lasagna?”
She didn’t take his disbelief personally. If he’d been here watching, he would have made her sit down. “Yep, me and my one hand, all from memory with a smattering of swearing.”
He hung his keys on the hook, came to her, and leaned in to gently kiss her. His lips sizzled against hers.
“You didn’t have to hold dinner for me. I’m going to be late some nights.”
“It’s only now finished baking and has to settle. But I can’t get the big pan out of the oven with my dead hand. We forgot a few areas we’ll have to problem-solve.”
He leaned around her. “Has it cooled?”
“Enough to move to the counter and close the oven. Yes, we can eat.”
“This is great, honey. Let me get out of my uniform.” He went to the oven and moved the pan to the potholders on the counter. Ones she put out more than thirty minutes ago. Hestopped at her side and bent to kiss her again. “Thanks.” His eyes showed tiredness and something else she wasn’t sure of.
“I’ll dish up some plates.”
“I...”
She put a finger on his lips. “Let me try.”
He raised his hands. “Fair enough.”
He disappeared into the bedroom, and she watched the ass she’d sewed stitches into months ago move out of sight. When she’d dreamed of them together, this wasn’t it.Quit being a baby, Cait.
Paper plates weren’t homey, but when the going got tough, the tough got going. Whoever wrote the pithy phrase ought to be taken out and taught a thing or two about being tough.
Cait carefully cut a large slice for Hunt and a smaller one for herself. She used their only spatula and transferred the servings to the plates. That accomplished, she slowly shuffled to the fridge and took out the salad Adele had made to help her out.
