Page 40 of Pregnant in Plaid
"You're really good at this," she mumbles, half-asleep already.
"SEALs get training in field medicine. Includes basic massage for muscle injuries."
"Remind me to thank the Navy later."
I work on a particularly stubborn knot at the base of her neck, and she actually moans.
"Right there. Oh my god, right there."
Do not think about the last time she made sounds like that. Do not think about?—
Too late. I'm thinking about it. About that night. About her under me, gasping my name, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Trace?" She turns her head slightly. "You okay?"
"Fine," I manage. "Just—you had a really stubborn knot."
"Had?"
"It's gone now."
She rotates to face me, and we're suddenly very close. Close enough that I can count the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Close enough to see the faint freckles across her nose. Close enough that if I leaned forward just a few inches?—
"Thank you," she says softly.
"Anytime."
And I mean it. I'll massage her back every day if itmeans she makes those sounds of relief. Even if it kills me.
Especially if it kills me.
That night, we end up on the couch watching the fire. She came out of the kitchen looking restless, I was reading a pregnancy book, and somehow we ended up here together.
"Tell me about Alaska," she says. "Why here instead of Virginia Beach?"
"My mom was from Ashwood Falls. She grew up here." I poke at the fire. "When I got out of the Navy, I wanted somewhere quiet. Remembered her stories about this place. Found this property for sale five years ago and it felt right."
"She never brought you here?"
"Once. When I was seven. But she moved to Virginia when she married my dad, and he never wanted to come back." I pause. "After she died, coming here felt like understanding where she came from. Who she was before she was just my mom."
"I get that," Patrice says quietly. "My parents died when I was twenty-two. Car accident. I kept finding little pieces of their lives afterward—recipes, labeled tools. Glimpses of who theywere."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too." She pulls her blanket tighter. "Do you miss the SEAL stuff?"
"Sometimes. Miss the team, the purpose." I lean back. "But I don't miss the violence. Don't miss wondering if I'd make it home." I pause. "Don't miss being alone."
She's quiet. "Tell me about your work. The carpentry."
"It's good work. Honest." I lean back. "You build something, it stays built. After years of destroying things in the service, it feels good to create instead."
"And you just do furniture?"
"Custom pieces mostly. Cabinets, tables, bedroom sets. Whatever people need. Keeps me busy." I glance at her. "What about you? What was the job you lost?"
"Director of Finance for a logging company. Or was supposed to be." She pulls the blanket tighter. "Before that I was at a marketing firm in Hibiscus Harbor. That's where I lived—small town on Florida's East Coast."
