Page 10 of Not Faking it with the Colonel

After occupying a table for two hours, Erin went to the counter and ordered dinner.

When she returned to her seat, one of the two teen girls at the table next to her asked, “Do you tutor in math too?”

“You wouldn’t want me to tutor you in anything beyond multiplication and division. I was no help to my daughters when they took geometry and calculus.”

“I’m in calculus and barely have a B,” the girl wearing an NC State T-shirt said.

“Bs are great. You can’t get As in everything.”

“Tell that to my parents.”

Dining out alone was one of the more challenging adjustments of divorce. Usually, she took food home, or, like most solo diners, she read on her Kindle, checked email, or browsed through what her friends had posted on social media. Tonight, she people-watched as she ate, largely ignored by the high schoolers occupying most of the tables.

With the grill being on base, she scanned the soldiers in uniform. Though it wasn’t like she’d have the nerve to walk up and introduce herself if she recognized someone’s Special Forces patch. She was far more likely to connect with someone at the USO facility. Volunteering at the center at different times and days and by working events, she hoped to connect with the right person to get her foot in the door. Observing a day or two of training would be ideal, but, if she could get a real-life operator to review the scripts, it could add authenticity. She had five more months to complete her mission: get an inside look at a Spec Ops team’s dynamics. She needed to prove she could write credible military characters as a civilian—and a woman.

She studied the profile of a man in civilian attire as he filled his cup at the drink dispenser. There was something vaguely familiar about him, and, when he turned around, she immediately recognized him.

While she hadn’t met or interacted with him at the 82ndAirborne’s homecoming, she’d certainly noticed him. He’d been in uniform and too far away from the USO table she’d manned to make out his name or rank. This man had the muscled physique and confident posture she associated with the image of a Special Forces soldier, and the 82ndAirborne was just a rung under Special Forces. She guessed he was in his mid-forties, which could easily make him a first sergeant—the perfect rank to get her access.

She diverted her gaze when he turned and wandered in her direction carrying a food tray. It would be too obvious if she quickly cleared the trays the girls had left on the table, so she waited for him to move closer, then made eye contact. “I’m pretty sure they aren’t coming back.” Erin pointed to the table next to her before he could walk away. “They packed up their computers a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks. I didn’t realize it’d be this crowded on a Thursday night.” He set his food down, then cleared the trays left behind before he took the seat on the bench versus looking at the wall. Typical Spec Ops positioning.

“High school finals start next week, and the SAT is coming up. The grill has free Wi-Fi and good fries.”

“Ah.” He nodded, taking in the tables of teens before angling his body toward her a bit.

He had some gray at his temples and faint lines at the corner of his light blue eyes. The smile he gave her made her pulse race a bit faster. She’d always preferred the clean-shaven, short-hair look, and she’d cast him in her Special Ops series in a heartbeat.

“You look familiar.”

Her pulse jumped another notch despite the gold band on his left ring finger. “Maybe I’ve tutored one of your kids.”

“Mine are both out of college.”

“Have you been in the USO recently? I volunteer there.” She knew he hadn’t been in the center when she was there because she would remember him coming in, but she decided to play it low-key.

“You were at the homecoming for the 82ndAirborne two weeks ago. I remember seeing you make sure soldiers got a proper welcome-home hug, even if they didn’t have family there. Thank you for volunteering.”

Heat crept up Erin’s chest. He’d noticed her? “Is that your unit?”Please say yes. Please say yes.

“My son’s unit. Jace is a first lieutenant. It was his first deployment.”

She managed not to groan aloud at having her hopes shot down—again. It was a long shot, but maybe he could connect her with his son.

Pride showed on his handsome face. He also didn’t tell her what unithewas in, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. However, there was a distinctive ring on his right hand.

“Is that a West Point class ring?” she asked.

“Yes.” He turned it her way briefly. “I played baseball for the academy, though that was a few decades ago.”

Attending West Point meant he was definitely not enlisted.

“How long have you volunteered at the USO?” he asked before taking a bite of his burger.

“Here? Only the past month. But I’ve volunteered at the Charlotte Center at the airport for over ten years.”

“That’s dedication. Thank you. What brought you to Fort Liberty then?”

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