Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As soon as Mark was around the corner, he broke into a run, skirting people and bikes and dogs.

He had to get away from her.

He knew what he wanted for his life. No commitments. No relationships. No woman demanding things from him. He wouldn't give up his plans. Not for Amanda. Not for anyone.

He should be happy he'd avoided that trap.

But all he felt was…sick.

What was he doing?

None of this made sense. Mark had saved a total stranger from an attacker.

No. A rapist.

Not just a rapist. A serial killer.

He'd saved her not because he was amazing but because…because he'd been given good instincts. He was part of a bigger plan.

Which meant there was a Planner.

Which meant Amanda was supposed to be part of Mark's life.

What did that mean?

Mark didn't know enough about God to answer that. He should've actually paid attention in church instead of pretending to in an effort to avoid his mother's wrath.

She was the reason he felt so conflicted.

But Amanda wasn't anything like his mother.

No, Amanda was kind and encouraging and honest. She hadn't asked Mark for anything except that he not discard her. She would be the one to do all the sacrificing if they stayed together. While she'd have plenty of opportunities to date, he'd be stuck in the desert, surrounded by Marines.

What was he running from?

He slowed to a stop.

Was he really willing to let her go because of some misguided fear of women? Would he really let his mother's hate dictate his entire life?

He'd worked so hard to do his own thing, despite his mother and her demands. She'd been furious when he turned down Princeton in favor of the Academy. When it came time for him to choose a branch of the service, she'd insisted he choose the Navy.

He'd bucked his mother's demands in every area of his life, congratulating himself on how he hadn't let her define him or choose his life's goals.

But here he was, letting his fear of ending up with someone like his mother scare him away from the woman he loved.

Beautiful, sweet Amanda was nothing like Patricia Truman Johnson.

Amanda loved him, and her love wasn't demanding or cruel or manipulative. It was true and real. A love he could count on.

A love that would give him hope.

And like a fool, he'd walked away.

He turned and sprinted, dodging pedestrians and dogs, hurrying back to where he'd left Amanda. But she wasn't there.

He continued to her building, pressed the intercom for her apartment.

No answer.

He pressed again and again.

Come on, come on.

She'd answer, wouldn't she?

She would. She would hope it was him. Even now, she believed in him.

She couldn't have gone far. To a friend's maybe?

To Carl's?

Mark would not consider that, not that he'd have anyone to blame but himself.

He jogged to the corner and looked down Weybosset in both directions.

There.

She was moving fast, but he was faster.

He hopped off the sidewalk and bolted down the street, ignoring the cars whizzing by and the glares of drivers. When he got close, he slowed to catch his breath, then came up behind her.

"Amanda?"

She spun, startled, eyes wide. Tears dripped down her cheeks and off her chin. Tears he'd put there.

Emotions bubbled up inside him and stole his words. He took her hands and tugged her out of the way of passersby into the entrance of a shop—the bakery, he realized, where he'd watched her with the kids the other day.

Where he'd first started falling for her.

He wrapped his arms around her, trying to think of what to say, how to tell her what he felt. But there were no words.

Her eyes were wide and filled not with fear or anger but hope and the tender love.

He couldn't help himself. He dipped his head and wrapped her up and kissed her. And everything he wanted to say—everything he wanted in life—he poured into that kiss.

When her arms snaked around his neck, when her back arched and she rose on her tiptoes to meet him, he dove in.

Afraid he'd lost her. Then afraid he'd lose her. Afraid he'd mess it up or make her angry or make her hate him or mostly afraid that someday, he'd hate her. And he didn't know what to do with any of those fears. He only knew he loved her. He wanted her and only her.

The truth of it calmed him, and he rested in what he knew to be true. He didn't have the answers, and he didn't need to.

He slowed down. There was no rush. This didn't need to be a kiss that lasted forever but a forever kind of kiss.

Yes, he let it languish, laughing at himself. He'd never put so much thought into a single kiss.

Or into a single woman.

He had a feeling he'd be putting a lot more thought into this one.

Maybe he owed her a few words, though. He forced himself to stop but didn't let her go. He held her close, feeling her quick breath against his neck.

The world went on around them. People chatted. Cars drove by. Music and the smell of baked goods carried outside through the bakery door whenever it opened.

Mostly, Mark picked up the scent of Amanda's hair and felt her warmth in his arms. "I fell in love with you right here."

She laughed and backed away to look at him. Though there were still tears, they were happy tears now. "When I accused you of stalking me?"

"A few minutes before that. When I was watching you teach the kids."

"So you were stalking me?"

"Not stalking. Observing. Big difference."

She grinned, but it didn't last. "Are you going to change your mind again?"

"No. I'm not. I promise. But it's going to be hard on both of us, me being there, you being here."

"I know."

"I don't think you do."

She took her time before she spoke again. "Okay. I have no idea how it's going to feel, but I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. And I'll be waiting when you get home."

He liked that, knowing she'd be here. "You should know…" He hadn't thought this part through. "Your father's not excited about us being together. He thinks?—"

"Is that why you?—?"

"He just said a few things that led me to doubt myself. It was my fears that deceived me."

"I'll talk to him."

"No. I wanted you to know because I don't want secrets between us. But I'll talk to him. Over time, I'll prove myself to him. He'll see."

She regarded him a long moment. "If that's what you want."

"It is. And, if you change your mind about me?—"

"Don't." She pressed a finger over his lips. "Don't do that. You've protected me enough. You don't need to protect me from you."

And he didn't need to protect himself from her.

When he returned from Afghanistan—and he'd do everything in his power to ensure he did—he would marry this woman. There was still so much they didn't know about each other. But they would learn together. Grow together.

And stay together. No matter what.