“And eat,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”
“As if you’d let me forget.”
They went back to the counter and Scarlett paid for her items. Apparently, the thrift store was having a sale today because she got twenty-five percent off everything. Her entire bill was less than forty dollars, which seemed to make her giddy. Mal stacked the frames in the backseat of his truck, then they drove around to the loading dock. He got out to supervise the loading of a green velvet-looking couch, though Scarlett gave him a hard look when he tried to help the guys shift it in the bed. He put both hands up in surrender and let them finish. They tied it down, he thanked them, and then he drove carefully out of the parking lot.
Scarlett let him choose where they had lunch, so he took her to an out of the way restaurant on the water. They sat at a table on the deck with a view of the Chesapeake Bay and ate crab cake sandwiches and fries. A soft breeze blew in off the water, ruffling their hair. Scarlett was still wearing her ponytail—he’d never seen her without it—but a few stray strands had come free and blew across her face from time to time. She shoved them back impatiently, long fingers tucking them behind her ears until the next breeze freed them again.
“This is really nice,” she said, gazing at the deep blue water and the sailboats in the distance. “I wouldn’t have found this place on my own.”
“You would have eventually. Took me more than a year.”
“Maybe so,” she said, dragging a fry through ketchup before popping it in her mouth. He’d wondered what she’d be like when she ate, if she’d order a salad and water, but Scarlett hadn’t even blinked. She’d ordered the crab cake sandwich and the fries, and he’d bet she’d order dessert when she finished the fries. “I don’t tend to venture out much. I know I should but I get tunnel vision with work and daily life, and I don’t explore.”
“Except for thrift shops.”
She laughed. “I do have a thing for thrift shops. People get rid of nice stuff, and you can pick up good things cheaply. I paid a hundred bucks for that couch. I mean it’s not the prettiest thing in the world, but it’ll work and it’s solid. I’ll fix it up so it looks nice.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to reupholster it.”
She laughed. “I don’t have a clue how to do that. I mean I’ll use throw blankets and pillows. That kind of thing.”
“You’re resourceful.”
“I learned it as a kid.” She dragged another fry through ketchup, only this time she seemed to be playing with it. Deciding what to say, probably. “My mom died when I was eight. I told you before she was a nurse, but she was actually an Army nurse. Deployed to Iraq. One day she went out in a convoy, and there was an IED by the road…” She swallowed. “Well, she didn’t come home again.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, both surprised and saddened by her revelation. Too many stories like that one. He hated it for her, and for all the grieving families who’d lost loved ones in a war zone. “That had to be tough for you.”
“It was. My dad was a great dad, but he was kind of hopeless about some things. He was depressed for a while. Lost his job. We moved a lot, and he always found work, but then he’d quit or get fired. I learned to hit the thrift stores and cruise neighborhoods looking for other people’s cast offs that they put on the curb as trash. I watched a lot of DIY television and YouTube videos, and I fixed stuff up. Sold some of it too.”
That didn’t surprise him. The more he knew her, the more Scarlett struck him as a survivor.
“How’d you end up as a physical therapist assistant?” he asked, stealing one of her fries.
She swatted his hand. “Well, since Mom was a nurse, I knew I wanted to do something in medicine. For the stability, and because of her. To honor her. I researched what I could do. I almost settled on dental tech, but being a PTA sounded more satisfying. I didn’t want to stare into people’s mouths all day. So I applied to the community college, got a couple of scholarships, and worked my way through by waitressing and junking.”
“What about your dad? Is he still in Florida?”
She shook her head, her eyes looking even sadder. “He died almost seven years ago. Motorcycle accident.”
“Damn,” Mal said. It was an impulse to reach for her hand. She didn’t pull away, and he didn’t let go, though the electricity sparking through him was a bit of a shock. He wanted to turn her hand over and skim his fingertips over her palm, up her wrist. He wisely didn’t. Instead, he gave her a soft squeeze. “That’s crappy, Scar. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, but she didn’t try to disentangle her fingers from his. “That’s life, right? Shit happens and then you die. Best you can do is keep moving forward.”
“That’s what I try to do.”
She sniffed and pulled her hand away. He didn’t reach for it again, but he found himself strangely disappointed. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”
He wasn’t done asking questions, but fair was fair. He really wanted to know about the asshat ex-boyfriend, but she’d already shared so much with him. He figured she wouldn’t want to share more at this point. Not until he did some talking of his own.
“I already told you the basics. Mom and Dad and Mel are in Galveston. You know what I do and where I live. What more is there?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Only everything, Mal. Your sister is named Mel? Short for Melanie, I assume?”
“Yep. Malcolm and Melanie. The only twins in our grade growing up.”
She grinned. “Did your mom dress you alike?”
“When we were little, yeah. But that shit stopped when I started pitching fits about it in first grade. I got teased and I wasn’t having it.”
“And she was born first. You said that before, I remember.”
“Yep. Three minutes before and she never lets me forget it either. Calls me little bro and shit, which is ridiculous since I outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds.”
“I like her already. What’s she do?”
“Mel was a teacher, but she’s decided she wants to be a police officer like our dad. She’s in training now.”
“Service to community and country runs in the family.”
“Yeah. Mom is a dispatcher. It’s how she met my dad.”
“Why didn’t you go into the family business?”
“I planned on it, but first I wanted to do four years in the military. Four turned into eight, and I’m still here.”
“You like your job then.”
“I do.”
“Even if you get shot doing it.”
“I could get shot being a police officer. Not much difference.” There was a lot of difference since he often got dropped into active war zones. His dad had never been shot in thirty years on the force. Thank God. Now if Mel could do the same, life would be great.
“If you say so.” She didn’t look convinced.
“Hey, you want dessert?”
“Is that water blue?” she said, nodding toward the bay.
“Sure is. Next question—you want it here, or you want to go get ice cream at a deli I know?”