Page 8 of Luck Be Mine
He returned with a large white plastic sack with a logo she couldn’t make out. He eased onto the bed beside her and set the bag at her thigh.
“I thought you might be missing your favorite stress reliever.” He loosened the top of the bag and handed her the biggest item.
Cait gasped. “A sketchpad?”
“One the clerk recommended. I didn’t know your favorites, but I figured something was better than nothing until your gear arrives. Check the rest. I can return anything you don’t want.”
She used her good hand and pulled out top quality drawing pencils, erasers, tracing paper, pastel pencils, and a pencil box. “Oh, my God. Hunt!” She disrupted the items and shifted in the bed, hiding the pain. “I’m thrilled.” She leaned to kiss him, and he moved closer to make it easier. Firm met soft and had her heart pounding. God, she missed their closeness.
“This is…” Cait teared and sat back against the pillows. “I did need these, but I wasn’t going to buy new. I wanted back what I’d left in Afghanistan.”
Hunt made a face. “You’ll get those, too, but I figured new might suffice while you recuperate.”
She reached for his hand and sank into the solid feel of him, the stability, the way he always got things right. “Yes, it will. Thank you. You don’t know what this means…”
He leaned in and kissed her again. “I do. I’m glad I got it right.”
“You always get it right. You never miss a step.”
“The scars on my body would disagree.”
She frowned. “I’m not talking about your job. I’m talking about me.”
“Well, I walked away once, then almost lost you. I’m trying.”
She eased away from the pressure on her shoulder and winced.
He helped her shift. “Find your comfortable spot again. I brought dinner home from Clark’s, my favorite diner. Doogie will yell he could cook something, but this leaves us alone.”
“You’re doing a lot of plotting there, mister.” She turned her hand to hold his and studied the plant from the top of the many leaves to the base of the terra cotta pot. “Where did you get the plant?”
“Grocery store. I’d like to claim the idea, Doc, but it was Maisey Clark’s.”
She scooted over and bit back hard against the groan. “Come closer.”
“You made yourself hurt.”
“Pain or my husband? Husband wins.” She smiled as naturally as possible when he eased into position to be closer to her. “See you wanted next to me, too.”
“Anywhere, anytime.”
“Could we find a movie to watch?”
“Honey, I’m never near a screen unless it’s work and terrorists are involved.”
Cait stifled a laugh. “No surprise there, frogman. How aboutBattleship? It has to be streaming somewhere. Navy, aliens, things go boom movie.”
“You’re choice.” His dry, non-committal comment mirrored his expression. He didn’t look like a man who found movie watching fun.
“You have to take your boots off so we can play footsie during the movie.”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Footsie? Is this a rule?”
“Yep. In my bed it is.”
He sighed with fake exasperation, but he untied his boots and slipped them off. He went to the kitchen and came back with a plastic box container, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. He laid the container in her lap.
White chocolate chip cookies. “Cookies? You brought me cookies.” An old tradition between them and him remembering caused tears. She swallowed hard to push them away. “Thank you.”
