“Gin, for the love of God, would you just come sit by me and let me kiss you hello? Take off the nursin’ hat for one minute and welcome me home, dang it.”
A slight smile made his eyes sparkle up at her as she leaned over him and kissed his forehead gently.
“Welcome home,” she said softly, lingering for a moment. “I’m glad you’re in one piece.”
“Me too.”
As she stepped back, she read his eyes clearly—the want, the longing, the bursting-at-the-seams love his heart held for her. She blushed and dropped his eyes, taking a seat in the chair across from him and leaving the one beside him empty.
“Did your retirement come through yet?”
The sparkle in his eyes dimmed as he picked up the mug of coffee on the table beside him and sighed. “Not yet.”
“But it will.”
He nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll be retired from the Navy at twenty-one.”
“No,” she said. “I mean, college? Work? What comes next for you?”
“Not college. I’ve had enough of takin’ orders for a while.” He shrugged, his expression agitated. “I don’t know, Gin. Can I just get used to bein’ at home first?”
His voice was terse, and, unaccustomed to his being short with her, Ginger sat back in her chair and stared at him in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“It’s okay,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I’m really, really glad you’re home.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Really, Gin?”
“You’re my best friend, Woodman. Of course I’m—”
“Here we are!” said Miz Sophie, joining them on the porch and handing Woodman’s rucksack to Ginger.
She nodded at Woodman’s mother in thanks before glancing up at him and did a double take at his expression. It was hard and frustrated, annoyed and seeking. What? she wondered. Why’s he so—
Of course.
You’re my best friend.
That’s what.
She couldn’t seem to do anything right tonight. She wore the wrong clothes, made the wrong greeting, asked the wrong questions, and hurt his feelings by slapping him into the friend zone when he wanted more from her. Fine. Time to go. She’d head home in a minute, but not before she made sure he was taking his meds correctly. The nursing student in her couldn’t leave without making certain.
She rifled through the outside pocket, taking out an amber vial of Vicodin and holding it up. “See this?”
Woodman nodded curtly.
“Says ‘Take as needed every four to six hours for pain,’ right?”
He nodded again.
“Are you in pain?”
His eyes were still narrow and hurt when he nodded yet again, but this time he added in a low, frustrated voice, “Yeah, Gin. I’m in pain.”
She almost flinched at the double meaning in his words, but controlled her expression and ignored his innuendo. “Then you should be takin’ one every four to six hours. When did you last have one?”
He shrugged, looking away from her. “I had half of one at four.”
“It’s eight thirty. Take another.” She opened the vial and shook one into her hand, holding it out to him.
He took his time reaching for it, claiming and owning her eyes as his fingers lingered far longer than necessary in her palm. “Fine.”
She watched as he placed the pill on his tongue and chased it with coffee before opening wide to prove it was gone. “Happy now?”
She wasn’t happy.
She wasn’t happy that her friend was in pain, either because of his injury or because she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
She wasn’t happy that Cain was finally home, because it had taken a long time for her to bury the heartache he’d caused her, and his sudden presence in her life was likely to bring it all to the surface again.
No, she wasn’t happy.
“Yes,” she said, standing up to say her good-byes. “I’m happy now.”
***