Chapter 39

39

SARAH

T he tub was calling my name, but Dean promised there would be all night to soak. Hunger was my main concern. I quickly changed into the one and only dress I had brought along. It was a soft fabric that claimed to be wrinkle-free. The claims were right.

I put on a little makeup and left my hair down. I almost forgot I had long hair. It was always in a ponytail or secured in a tight bun when I was working. Letting it swing free felt rebellious, and tonight was a night for getting wild.

Tonight was our first official date. We were breaking all the rules, but no one was around to wag their fingers or bring us up on disciplinary charges. We had earned it, after being patient and staying mostly apart. No more holding back.

Dean was waiting for me in the living room area of our suite. He wore a black dress shirt and dark jeans, his muscular frame easily filling out the clothing. His green eyes met mine, and for a moment, my hunger was no longer for spaghetti.

"You look beautiful," he said with sincerity, extending his arm toward me.

I took it, my heart fluttering with anticipation. Now that we weren't at risk of being caught, Dean could take his time and be a proper gentleman, fitting since we were in London. He had been my knight in shining armor coming to Washington. I would happily be his lady tonight.

"Thank you, you clean up pretty nice yourself," I teased, drawing a chuckle from him.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Starving," I replied.

The restaurant Dean had chosen was near the hotel. The Italian restaurant had an intimate atmosphere, with flickering candles on the tables and soft guitar music. Outside, Big Ben stood proudly, its clock face lit up against the night sky. The city lights were more romantic than I had expected, casting a warm glow on the historic buildings around us. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. It felt magical to share the moment with Dean.

He pulled out the chair for me, giving me a seductive smile. Our waiter arrived, speaking with an accent that was rich in Italian flair. We ordered glasses of red wine.

I smiled at Dean's clumsy attempts to decode the menu. "Everything looks so good," I said.

"Because you're starving." He laughed.

"Good point."

Our waiter returned with our wine.

"I think I'll have the lasagna," I said, handing back the menu. Dean grinned, murmuring something about not daring to try anything he couldn't pronounce.

"Me too, please," he replied.

I sipped my wine, feeling very fancy. I couldn't remember the last time I had been on an actual date. I grabbed dinner in the mess hall or sometimes lunch with a guy, but dates were rare. For the first time, I didn't talk about flying or my career. Tonight was about us. I wanted to get to know the man. Not the pilot.

I leaned forward, propping my chin on my hand. "So, tell me more about you, Dean. What were you like as a kid? Did you act out?"

He chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "I wasn't too bad, actually. I grew up as an only child, but when I was about sixteen, my parents started fostering younger children. Suddenly, I was an older brother to a lot of kids."

"That must have been a big change," I said.

"It was. It was hard to say goodbye to each one when they left, but I learned a lot of life lessons during that time. Looking back, it's one of the things I'm most proud of about my parents. They were selfless people who knew how to show love."

"Were?" I asked gently, sensing the shift in his tone.

He nodded, his eyes growing distant. "My parents are both gone now. My father died when I was halfway through my own UPT. My mother passed a few years later."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," I said softly.

He gave a small, sad smile. "My father never had good health, and my mother was too lonely without him. They were true soulmates. Losing them was the hardest thing I've ever had to contend with. It felt like I was just starting to get over losing my father and then my mom decided to join him. It was difficult."

"That and survival training?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed, the sound easing the tension. "Yeah, that too."

"What about you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. "I know Mo well. He was who I looked up to most during my training. He took me under his wing, and I wanted to be just like him. I heard a few stories about you, and when I say a few, I mean hundreds. Never anything too specific. But he was always telling me you got an A on this test, or he took you flying, stuff like that. He said you were following in his footsteps."

"That was my goal." I nodded. "He told me about you, too."

Talking about my father made me sad. After he ignored me pretty much my whole visit home, I wasn't sure where our relationship stood. It was still a very sensitive topic. He never gave me a chance to explain.

"What about the rest of your family?" he asked.

"There's my younger sister, Meg. My mother is the typical doting mom and military wife. We're a happy nuclear family, but the chaos of being a military family and moving around a lot to follow my father's career was always a constant. She got very used to being mom and dad. She could fix just about anything on her own. My mom was always the quiet one, but she knew how to get stuff done. When Dad would come back after a deployment, she would always smile and tell him everything was great. My dad, I think he knew it wasn't always great, but he had to provide for the family. It was his job."

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat when I remembered how my dad would come home and tell us all about what he had seen and done while he was gone. I used to hang on to his every word.

Dean reached across the table, his hand warm over mine. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "It's my father. When I was home for the weekend, he told me he's starting to doubt if I can really handle this. He said a career in the Air Force isn't for hot-headed kids who can't control themselves."

Dean's brow furrowed. "He can't see past the breach of protocol, even when you clearly did the right thing. It's unbelievable."

"He won't hear me out," I said. "He thinks I'm going to blow it. He doesn't see me as serious about being a pilot. He said the Air Force doesn't need people like me."

Dean's expression softened. "I think our parents, especially the ones we look up to, have a difficult time seeing us as anything other than their little kids. Maybe he's not as cool with you up in a jet as he thought he was going to be. It was one thing when you were in school but now you're on the cusp of being a fighter pilot."

"I don't know," I said. "I think he truly believes I can't control myself."

"My father never saw me fly. He was bedridden by the time I started training. But I remember how his eyes would shine when I would tell him about my dreams of becoming a pilot."

"But your dad wasn't discouraging you from being a pilot," I said, feeling the sting of my father's discouragement.

"No, he wasn't," Dean agreed. "But he did express worry about whether I could cope with the pressure and he made me promise to quit if it ever became too much. I guess, in his own way, that was his method of discouragement."

He was right. "You think that's what my dad is doing?" I asked, quietly.

"I think he's scared," Dean replied softly. "Seeing the aftermath of the fight probably terrified him. Parents always want their children to be safe."

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. "I've just never felt this kind of negativity from him before. And he knows me better than anyone, right? So maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I thought I was doing the right thing but Rolley got hurt. What if that happens in a combat situation? What if someone doesn't come home because of me?"

"No." He shook his head. "You did the right thing. And the whole point of this training is to prepare you for real world situations. Let us worry about getting you combat ready."

"The general thinks I'll never be ready," I said.

"Parents only know parts of their children. They can't see the whole picture, and it's not because they're not looking. It's because we are different versions of ourselves with them compared to who we are with other people. You're a badass. I've flown with you. I know you're good. He might not be able to see you through clear eyes."

"I don't know about that." I sighed. "It's just not something I'm familiar with. It's so weird."

"If your father had walked into that room and saw how you handled yourself when you knew someone was in trouble, I think he'd be singing a different tune. You did the right thing, Sarah. Don't let him make you think otherwise. I wasn't thrilled to hear you went all Rambo, but I understand why you did it."

His words meant more to me than I could express. "Thank you, Dean."

He smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. "Anytime."

Our meals were delivered a few minutes later. The lasagna looked fancy enough to take pictures of, but I didn't want to spoil the moment by pulling out my phone. "Wow," I said.

Dean nodded. "It looks amazing."

For a while, we ate in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The food tasted as good as it looked, and it momentarily distracted me from the turbulent emotions that had been stirred up talking about my dad.

"Something about a good meal just soothes the soul," I said, trying not to talk with my mouth full. "It probably helps that the meal's in London."

He chuckled. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"This is definitely one of the better parts of flight training. It beats drinking rainwater out of a ditch during SERE."

I felt like I was in a dream. Sitting across from Dean Ryker in London and eating a fantastic meal was not something I ever imagined I would be doing. I remembered looking at the poster of him and imagining what it was like to be him. To me, he was the coolest man on the planet.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

I was not about to tell him the truth. It was too embarrassing. "I was just thinking about how cool it is here," I said, shrugging.

"London definitely has its charm," Dean agreed.

"I can see why you wanted to live here," I said. "It's exciting."

"Would you want to live here?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Too soon to tell. I know I can be sent anywhere in the world. I haven't really thought about my next base. I think I assumed I would be stationed somewhere in the States, Pensacola maybe. That would be cool."

Dean nodded in understanding. "Pensacola has its charm too. The climate is warm, the ocean's right there, and the sunsets? Well, you'd be hard-pressed to find better anywhere else."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You make it sound like a vacation getaway."

He chuckled, then became serious. "Every place has its perks. And its drawbacks."

"I take it you've been to a lot of bases?"

He nodded. "I've been to a lot. My stay was longer at some than others. I was in Pensacola for about eight months. I liked it."

"But you bought a bar in Mississippi?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I kind of just fell into that with Jude. He's a good buddy. It worked out now that we're stationed there."

I grinned and lifted my wineglass in a toast. "I'll drink to that."

We finished our meals, enjoying every bite. I didn't know if it tasted any different here, but the location was everything.

After the meal, I slumped back in my chair, patting my stomach. "I'm stuffed."

Dean chuckled. "How about a walk to help digest all that food?"

"I think you might need to roll me," I groaned. "I seriously overdid it."

Dean snorted in laughter. "I'd say you earned it after today. You deserved to celebrate."

I finished my glass of wine while he paid the check, eager to see what came next.