You cannot always wait for the perfect time. Sometimes youmust dare to jump.
Her lips curved up.
How well they’d known her. Always the planner. Always the girl who tried to achieve the best outcome by seeking the optimal moment for every move and preparing for every contingency.
Yet during her smokejumping career, she’d followed the advice on that magnet literally. Learned to conquer her fear, trust her abilities and instincts, and leap into the unknown.
Maybe it was time to do the same in her personal life.
SEVENTEEN
SHE’D INVITED HIM IN.
How about that?
Lips bowing, Marc finished scrubbing the soot from under his fingernails and lathered his hands.
Of course, an invitation to share pizza didn’t mean she was ready to share anything more. But it was a start.
He dried his hands, finger combed his hair, and rejoined her in the kitchen. “I’m afraid this is as good as it’s going to get. Not much I can do about the soot that seeped through my coveralls.” He tugged on the sleeve of his T-shirt, marred with a dark smear.
Plates in hand, she stopped setting the table and swiveled toward him. Gave his shirt a quick inspection, lingered for a millisecond on his bicep, then quickly transferred her attention to his face. “Soot is insidious.”
“That’s an understatement. May I?” He crossed to one of the chairs and held his jacket over the back.
“I can hang that up for you.”
“This is safer.” He draped it over the chair. “If it’s harboring any soot, I’d rather the ash fall on a tile floor than rub against anything in your coat closet. How can I help?”
“Not much to do with takeout pizza.” She set the second plate on the table.
He zoomed in on her knuckles. Cleaned up, but raw. Theyhad to hurt with every finger flex. “I could pour drinks or set out silverware.”
“No utensils necessary with pizza, but you can get the drinks. There’s Diet Coke and water in the fridge. If you prefer coffee, I’d be happy to brew a cup.”
“I’ll go with the Coke. What would you like?”
“Coke is fine.”
Marc crossed to the fridge, taking a quick inventory as he extracted the two cans. Yogurt, milk, cranberry juice, deli turkey, eggs, and an array of vegetables and fruit. Mostly healthy, nothing fancy. Two takeout containers suggested she ventured farther afield if she wanted to eat more than the basics.
He set one of the sodas beside her as she placed paper napkins on the table, popped the tab on his, and took a long pull. “This hits the spot. I didn’t have enough to drink today.”
“Help yourself if you want a refill.” She opened her own soda. Rested her hand on the back of the chair as she took a sip, favoring her right leg.
That parachute injury had had long-lasting repercussions.
“Why don’t you claim the soft cushy chair you mentioned in the parking lot and put your legs up while we wait for the pizza?”
“I like that idea.”
Her immediate capitulation confirmed his suspicions. Her leg had taken a hit during her tumble in the parking lot.
He followed her into the living room, sitting on the couch after she claimed a padded recliner.
“I know this isn’t a typical younger person’s chair, but it was a godsend during my recuperation.” She pushed on the back to elevate her legs. “Hopefully one day I won’t need it.”
“How long ago did the accident happen?”