Clint arched an eyebrow, peering at both of us through the steam rising above the pots. "You know how to count cards?"
"I, uh . . ." my cheeks burned, "might've taught her."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, most dads teach their kids how to change tires and barbecue. Counting cards?"
Kimber laughed. "It's a survival skill!"
"What?" Clint scoffed. "How the hell is that a survival skill?"
"Come to a Wilson family reunion and play a few hands," she said. "Then tell me it isn't."
"Yep," I said. "None of us spend much time in casinos, but my family is cutthroat at blackjack and poker. So I taught her how to count cards so she'd have half a chance when she played against them."
"Yeah?" Clint stirred something into one of the pots. "So how do you do against them?"
Kimber snorted.
I beamed, patting her shoulder. "I think I taught her a bit too well. My brothers are almost afraid to deal her in now."
Clint chuckled. "That's impressive."
"And let me tell you." I whistled. "Do not play poker with this one."
"What? Counting cards doesn't really help in poker, does it?"
"No, but you can sure benefit from having a rock-solid poker face and a killer bluff."
"Really?" Clint glanced at her, then me, then her again. "You?"
Her lips quirked. "Yeah. Why not?"
"Well, you know." He shrugged. "I can't imagine a child of his having a poker face or-"
I laughed. "Shut up and cook, asshole."
After an amazing meal of baked pasta with steamed vegetables, we all hunkered down in the living room to watch a couple of movies. Kimber had been after me for a year to give some Bollywood films a try, and over dinner, she'd gotten Clint on her side. And after the two movies were over, I had to admit they were pretty fun.
"Drag him over again next time I have a night off," she said. "I've got a ton more where those came from."
"You won't have to drag me over to watch those." Clint sighed and looked at his watch. "For tonight, though, I should probably bail. I've got a meeting at 0700 tomorrow."
I grimaced. "At 0700? Who the hell scheduled that?"
"The CO. Obviously."
"She's a sadist, isn't she?"
"Very much so." He motioned toward the kitchen. "Let me clean all that up before-"
"No, no, no." Kimber jumped to her feet and shooed him toward the door. "You cooked. We'll clean."
"But I-"
"Don't argue with me."
He turned to me.
"You heard her," I said. "Don't argue with her."
"Fair enough."
We both stood, and I winced at a few fresh twinges in my back. As I kneaded them gingerly, I turned to Kimber. "Let me show him out, and then I'll give you a hand."
"Okay." She went into the kitchen, and Clint and I went to the front door.
"Thanks for cooking," I said. "Dinner was amazing."
"Anytime." He wrapped his arms around my waist. "It was nice hanging out with you and Kimber."
"It was. So are you free tomorrow night?"
His grin made my knees weak. "If I wasn't before, I am now."
"Perfect." I slid my hands up his chest and around the back of his neck. "I have no idea what we'll do with it, but I'm already looking forward to it."
"Me too. When I get home, I'll see if there's anything good to queue up on Netflix. Anything in particular you want to see?"
Nothing you'll find on Netflix, no.
"Surprise me." I glanced back toward the living room. "More Bollywood, I'm guessing?"
"Maybe." He kissed me lightly. "We'll see." Another kiss, longer this time.
As much as I wanted to stand there in the doorway and make out, or maybe go up to the bedroom and do even more, I put a hand on his chest and gently separated us. "You've got an early meeting. I don't want to be the reason you're nodding off in front of the CO."
"Yeah." He scowled. "Being an adult sucks, doesn't it?"
"So much."
He smirked. "Though, you have more experience being-"
"Fuck you," I laughed and drew him back to me so I could kiss him.
He grinned against my lips, and then he cradled the back of my neck and let the kiss linger. As he pulled back, he ran his tongue across his lips. "You know, I just realized the command Christmas party is coming up." He blushed. "Do you want to go?"
"Is that a roundabout way of saying you want us to come out to the command?"
He laughed, lowering his gaze, and the color in his cheeks deepened. "I guess that's what would happen if we showed up together, but I . . ." He met my eyes. "I want to go with you."
I smiled. He was so cute, being all shy like a teenager trying to ask someone to the prom, and who the hell was I kidding? Forty-five years old and I was getting all fluttery inside at the thought of being asked. I hated command Christmas parties almost as much as I hated the Navy Ball. But going with Clint?
"Sure," I said. "Guess I'd better get my uniform ready."
"Me too." He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "Anyway, I'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
One last kiss-a long, gentle one that made it really tempting to ask him to stay-and he was gone. Still smiling like an utter tool, I turned the dead bolt and went back into the kitchen.
As I came in, Kimber looked up from rinsing a plate. "Can you have him over more often? His cooking is amazing."
I laughed. "So you want me to use him for the meals?"
"Well, it's either that or one of us takes a cooking class."
"Good point." I picked up a dish towel. "And we both know that's not happening."
"Not without the paramedics or fire department getting involved."
"Oh come on. I'm not that bad."
She shot me a side-eye as she put another plate in the drying rack.
"Hey now." As I dried one of the pots, I said, "What do you think of him? Besides his cooking, I mean?"
"He's a nice guy." She glanced at me. "What do you think of him?"
My hand stopped. "I like him."
"You don't say." She started scrubbing out the casserole dish. "So is it serious?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. We'll see where things go."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed." She held up her soap-covered hand, index finger crossed under the middle. "It's about time you were happy, you know?"
I forced myself not to visibly wince, and managed to return her smile. "Thanks." I wanted to believe being happy was a possibility now. Things with Clint had been smooth sailing so far, but seas could change on a dime and so could a relationship.
We finished cleaning up the kitchen, and she went to her room to study while I went to mine to get some sleep.
It had been an awesome evening. My pain had been manageable enough that I hadn't even needed to wear the TENS unit. Clint had cooked me and Kimber the best meal either of us had had in a long time.
And for that matter, it had been cool to be with both Clint and Kimber at the same time. They'd met before, but this was the first time we'd all really sat down and talked. I'd admittedly been nervous-she hadn't always been thrilled with people I'd dated-but they'd gotten along great.
One more point in his favor, as if there'd been any shortage of those lately. All the signs were there that this wanted to turn into something bigger. If we let it, God only knew how high it could go.
That thought sent fear and dread surging through my veins. The higher we went, the harder we'd crash when it was over. Relationships that started out this perfect were disasters in the end. So much more so than the false starts-the ones that barely lasted beyond a week or two and had all the emotional investment of a conversation with a seatmate on a long flight. I'd had more of those than I could count. Then there were the flings that kind of leaned toward becoming relationships and didn't. Those weren't fun, but they weren't catastrophic either, because they were pretty much over before they started.
This thing with Clint, though . . .
It was terrifying because a failure to launch was a hell of a lot less painful than crashing and burning.
And even though I was almost certain the crash was inevitable-every relationship I'd ever had eventually wound up a smoldering wreckage-I couldn't make myself back away. I was even willing to go with him to the Christmas party and practically announce to the command that the rumors going around were true.
Yes, everyone, Lieutenant Commander Fraser is my boyfriend.
Shit. I was being an idiot, wasn't I? There was no doubt in my mind I'd regret this later.
But for now, on the microscopic chance we got it right, I wanted to see where we could go.
The Christmas party was the first week of December, and it didn't require dinner dress uniforms. No, it required standard dress uniforms, which meant yet another frantic round of cleaning, ironing, trying on, and arranging insignia. I swore if the Navy required any more uniforms, I'd need a bigger closet than my daughter's.