Page 46 of Eight Years Gone

He picked up the dethorning tool and got to work on the first set of stems as Grace did the same across from him at the table. “This is a hell of a lot of white flowers.”

She sent her tool down a stem. “The bridal party’s bouquets are white roses and peonies.”

He touched one of the packages. “What about these burgundies here?”

“The bride has burgundy roses and ranunculus sprinkled into her bouquet to match her bridesmaids’ dresses, but otherwise, the décor is mostly white.”

“Just white?”

She nodded. “Plus, the green filler we’ll use. White’s not uncommon for an evening wedding. It’s very elegant.”

“Huh,” he said, trying to figure out how boring was elegant.

The quiet stretched out again as they efficiently worked through half a dozen packages.

“You jumped out of planes and hung yourself out of helicopters,” she finally said.

He paused, looking at her.

“Delta Force,” she continued. “You risked your life every day.”

He got back to work. “That was my job.” The only topic she seemed to be interested in talking about. But it was something. It was a start.

“What was your title—your position?”

“I was a master sergeant.”

She shook her head. “But what did you do?”

“I did lots of things, but mostly I sniped.”

“A sniper?”

He nodded.

She picked up another flower, studying one of the blooms, plucking off a bent petal. “I read that some Delta guys do stuff with the CIA. Did you?”

“Grace, I can’t tell you that.”

“What can you tell me?”

“Not much.”

She nodded, picking up another flower. “Delta Force does hostage rescue.”

“We do,” he confirmed, knowing her well enough to understand that there would be a follow-up to her statement.

“There was a raid two and half years ago in Afghanistan—for those foreign aid workers that were kidnapped by that terrorist group. It was all over the news for weeks. Maybe Delta Force was there. Maybe you were there.”

He held her gaze, sending her the slightest nod, wanting to give her something—to share a small piece of who he’d been. “If I talk about missions, I put my team members in danger and compromise national security.”

She sent him a small smile as she nodded again. “Top secret.”

“That’s right.” He winked, focusing on the stems, thrilled that her smile had been for him.

“What contracting group do you work for? If it’s okay to ask.”

“I worked for Gray Corporation.” He cut several of the processed stems, setting them in the bucket of fresh water. “You won’t find much about it online—probably nothing. They’re ultra-exclusive—a referral company.”

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