When I Fall in Love(62)
“Why don’t you climb in; we’ll give it another go,” John said, breaking through the quiet, sketchy past.
Raina climbed in.
“Keep your foot off the gas!”
She cranked the engine while he tested each of the spark plug holes.
“Okay, you can stop.” He leaned out from under the hood. “Just stay there. I’ll need you to crank again.”
She sat in the cab, the familiarity of the truck casting her back to sitting on a cracked, weedy stoop for another week—hot, hungry, her stomach all gnarled and angry as she waited.
“Raina?”
She looked up to see John staring at her, something of worry in his eyes.
“Sorry.”
“Give it another go.”
She cranked while he tested the spark plug holes again. Then he held up his hand to stop.
She got out. “So?”
“There are holes in a couple of the cylinders. I’ll need to replace gaskets.” He was wiping his hands with a rag.
Cicadas buzzed in the afternoon heat.
“So did he ever show up?”
Huh? She looked at John.
“Your father. He sent you to your aunt’s house. Did he ever show up to get you?”
“Yeah. He’d had some trouble with the engine, had to catch a ride to Sioux Falls for parts.” But she kept her eyes away, haunted by her own words.
Deep inside, she’d feared he’d wanted to leave her there. It would have been easier than trying to figure out what to do with two hungry, unruly kids.
“Got any more of that pizza?” John asked.
She nodded and gestured to the box. He helped himself, again folding the pizza like a sandwich. “You’re pretty good at this. Fixing cars. Catering. Paddling boats.”
“I try to help. To fit in.”
He finished the slice. “You fit in just fine, Raina, without trying.”
Her throat swelled. “I guess Casper didn’t need my defending.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Oh, Darek and Casper have plenty of war wounds. I think we could all use a little defending sometimes.” His eyes found her, too much warmth in them for her to bear. “But Casper is not the one I’m worried about.”
Oh. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like that moment when her father had shown up, opened the truck door, and said, Climb in, I’m taking you home.
“Apology accepted,” he finally said softly.
“Hey! What’s going on?” She looked up to see Casper approaching. He wore a black T-shirt, the sleeves stretched around his biceps, a tool belt hanging low over a pair of nearly white faded jeans. Sawdust littered his dark hair.
“Just hanging out, eating pizza with your first mate,” John said. He winked at Raina fast, and she turned away before she did something else strangely dramatic, like cry.
Max couldn’t dislodge the spur of anger Grace’s words had ground into him. Crazy, he knew, but he had stared at her walking away at the Pearl Harbor monument, and even over dinner at the resort, and a burning fury began to move through him.
What kind of woman said she’d marry a man she knew would die? That was . . . wrong. Nuts.
Infuriating.
Because it sparked a thousand impossible dreams. Like a desire to get married. To have a home. Even children, although he’d never have his own. Suddenly he completely understood why Brendon couldn’t hold himself back any longer, despite his fatal prognosis, and had married the woman who made him, for the first time, feel alive.
Who gave him something to live for.
That only made Max’s anger sharper because he already had something to live for. Hockey. Or at least that’s what he thought before he’d gotten on a plane to Hawaii and sat next to a woman afraid to fly. Afraid to reach out and live.
Funny how helping her leap into life had ignited the same desire in himself.
Grace had the power to tug him out of his dark places, drive him to his last nerve, and stir in him such a longing that he found himself . . . making soup.
“Seriously? Soup?” Max said, looking at their basket of ingredients. Day two of the Honolulu Chop competition, and he desperately needed to get his head back in the game.
“Yes,” Grace said as she sorted through their ingredients. Today, the morning had started with a downpour, and gray clouds hovered over the island. They’d break free by afternoon, but for now, a cool, clinging mist hung in the soggy air. Grace wore her hair back, her sleeves rolled up, so much verve on her face, he thought they might have a chance at making it through this round.
But soup?
“Listen, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Not only is this the soup-and-salad phase, but soup is good for the soul. More importantly, it’s actually hard to do well, so you can bet the others won’t go near it. The good news is that you happen to have a gourmet soup chef in your midst.”