Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The restaurant was a casual beachside place decorated with an abundance of buoys and lobster traps and nets and oars. The tables and chairs of scuffed dark wood matched the floor, which felt just a little gritty with sand beneath Mark's sneakers as he followed Amanda and the host across the dining room. Just a few of the tables were occupied, and he was pleased with their table next to a window that overlooked the patio and, beyond that, the Atlantic.

They'd barely taken their chairs when a server stopped. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Diet Coke," Amanda said.

"Water for me."

The server left, and Amanda settled in to study the menu.

Mark studied her, fascinated. She'd read for a minute, then her eyes would scrunch together, and a wrinkle would appear between her eyebrows.

Was she worried about the prices?

He glanced at his menu. "Order whatever you want. I'm getting the surf and turf." Steak and lobster. The only thing on the menu that simply read, market price . It didn't matter to him what it cost. He'd be eating nothing but government issued meals for a year at least. Besides, he'd skipped breakfast in a weird attempt to get the day over with sooner. No breakfast. Early lunch. Have Amanda home by midafternoon with her pepper spray and key chain and safety tips.

He planned to be done with her by dinnertime.

Except, if he really wanted to do that, he could've taken her to lunch in Providence. Even better, he could've dropped the bag of self-defense items at her door with five minutes of instructions.

What was he doing at the beach? In November?

Her hands shook as she brushed her hair behind her ear. She'd dropped her guard for a few minutes in the car when she told him about her family. She'd smiled a genuine smile, even laughed a little. But then she'd stiffened and clammed up. Now, she read the menu with those bright blue eyes as if there'd be a test later. Every so often, she'd mutter something under her breath. "The fish and chips look good." Then, "I wonder how much garlic they put in the scampi." And, "Ooh, I haven't had haddock in a long time." He hardly heard her, more interested in watching her lips move.

She was captivating.

Finally, she set the menu down. "Fish tacos."

"Seriously?" He looked at the menu and saw that it was one of the cheapest seafood items listed. "Get what you want, please."

"I want the fish tacos. I've never had them, and they sound good."

He sat back. "If that's what you want."

She sat back, too, and unwrapped her napkin, freeing the silverware and placing it carefully on the paper placemat. She draped the napkin on her lap. Everything about her was miniature—her hands, her cute little nose, even her feet were tiny. Standing at full height, she barely reached his chest. How could someone so small have such power over him?

He wanted to know everything about her. Where she was from, her favorite subjects in school, her friends, her likes, her hobbies, her favorite TV show. Everything. He couldn't decide what to ask her first. Then he remembered what she'd said earlier. Last night, he suggested… Last night. Carl.

"So did you and Carl have a date last night?"

"What?" Her eyes widened. "No. I had a party. It was Sherri's birthday."

Ridiculous, the relief that spread through him. He had to work to keep from smiling.

"I would've invited you," she said, "but you disappeared on me."

"I had plans, so I couldn't have come."

"Did you have a date?"

"No, no. Just friends." Was Amanda jealous? He couldn't let himself consider that. And he wasn't jealous, either. Obviously. Why should he be? He tapped his fingers against the table and tried to sound casual. "Carl was there, I guess."

Her face darkened as if a cloud had blown in front of the sun. Her lips turned down at the corners, and that little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "Yeah, he was there."

He waited for her to explain why that bothered her. She didn't.

The server delivered their drinks and took their orders. When she left, Amanda folded her hands again. He remembered how she'd acted at the bar Thursday night, how she'd laughed with the customers like she was comfortable. Why didn't she feel comfortable with him?

Oh yeah. Carl.

"Tell me about your party."

"It was so fun." Amanda launched into a story about the evening, about one of her friends deciding they all needed to play games, and how it was surprisingly hilarious. And there it was—her comfortable smile.

He loved watching her, the way her face brightened when she was happy. Her eyes were wide, her smile open. Her hands joined the conversation, moving, flipping, pointing. She was so innocent.

She stopped, and her hands settled on the table. "Innocent?"

Oops. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sorry. But it's true. Your innocence is…" He grasped for a word. Sweet, refreshing, enchanting. "I like it."

Her lips turned down in a full-fledged frown. She crossed her arms. "I'm not that innocent."

"I meant it as a compliment."

"You didn't mean to say it. And I'm just saying, I don't want you to think I'm something I'm not."

"I didn't mean to offend you. I think it's beautiful. You're beautiful."

She looked away, sipping her Diet Coke.

"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure why he should be. "I like your enthusiasm, the way you don't hide your feelings or act like everything has to be a mystery."

She looked at him again, head tilted to the side. Her hair pooled around her shoulder. Without thinking, he reached across the table and brushed it back, tugging a strand gently, enjoying the silky feel of it.

She shivered and blushed.

He shouldn't have done that. "So, are you from around here?"

"Are you asking me if I come here often?" She grinned, shaking her head. "Natick, Mass. You?"

"Little town near the New Hampshire coast."

"You moved farther from home than I did. What were you doing at the bar last night?"

"Drinks with a friend. He's a graduate student at Brown."

"And what do you do?"

He took a long sip of his soda. He didn't want to tell her what he did, who he was. Not yet. He wasn't prepared for her reaction, whatever it might be. He hated when people treated him like the professor had the other night, as if being a Marine meant he liked killing people. Not that he'd ever killed anyone, though the thought had crossed his mind with Amanda's stalker.

But that reaction he could handle. People like the professor could be brushed off.

His mother was ashamed of him. He felt that sometimes, like his existence embarrassed people. He was used to dealing with that.

It was the ones who treated him as if he'd done something gallant by joining the Marines. As if it made him a hero.

Mark didn't feel like a hero, never had. He'd joined because it was all he'd ever wanted to do. Now his country was at war, and he was prepared to do what he'd been trained to do.

He didn't want to think about it. And he certainly didn't want Amanda to know. Not yet.

How would she react? Would she be proud of him? Angry he hadn't told her earlier? Would she be disgusted?

What would that look like on her perfect face?

He'd paused too long.

Her head tilted to the side, and her mouth turned down in a frown. "Are you a student too?"

"Graduated a few years back," he said, thankful for the out. "I'm probably too old for you."

She uttered a dark chuckle he didn't understand. "I doubt it. How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven. You?"

"Twenty-one. See, just six years."

She said it as if it were great news, as if there were no barriers between them that couldn't be crossed.

What was he doing?

Falling for her.

What in the world?

He'd just met this woman. He barely knew her. She didn't know him at all.

Somehow, he was falling for a twenty-one-year-old college student who had no business wasting her time with a Marine headed off to war.

If only he had the strength to end it before it went too far.