Looking for Penelope had become a habit Eli couldn’t break.
A few months before he’d left Georgia, he’d started looking for her everywhere he went in Misty River, like a TV antenna trying to pick up a signal.
He’d continued to look for her when he’d been half a world away. It had made no sense, but he’d climb from the cockpit of his F-22 and catch himself scanning the horizon for a red ’74 Bronco. In meetings, he’d hear the door open and glance up, hoping it was her. When he downloaded email, he looked for her name.
Finally, this evening, he’d come face-to-face with her again. She was angry with him, but he’d been so overwhelmingly glad to see her that even her irritation hadn’t had the power to ruin his mood.
At Ricker’s gate, he slowed his black ’70 Mustang and showed his ID. The SPs waved him forward.
Soon after Penelope had rejected his help with Madeline, he’d received a text from a buddy, letting him know that he was scheduled to lead mission on Monday. He’d decided to stop by the squadron to check the flying schedule in order to give himself additional time to prepare. He continued past the turnoff he’d have taken to reach his apartment.
When he’d come to Georgia, he’d moved into bachelor officer’s quarters on base without even bothering to paint the apartment’s beige walls. At his base in Alaska, and in Florida before that, he’d chosen equally simple housing. Avoiding a commute to work was worth more to him than either the comfort or impressiveness of the housing choices in town.
Other than a few pieces of modern art painted by an artist from Montana, his top-of-the-line television, and his sound system, he didn’t have a lot. Just clothes, bedding, sports equipment, and his car.
He’d never needed much beyond flying. Flying was the center of almost everything he thought about and did and cared about, and had been since his parents had taken him and his older and younger brothers to a Thunderbirds demonstration when he’d been in third grade.
In fact, flying had been enough for him right up until Penelope Quinn had entered his life like the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.
Inside the squadron, he spent time shaking hands and catching up with the squadron intel officer and an exec he hadn’t seen since he’d left for Syria. Then he made his way into the scheduling shop, where the flying schedule filled a large whiteboard. He noted the flight’s call sign and information, then frowned slightly at the names of his wingmen, who were good but not quite up to his standards. He took his time studying the takeoff and landing times, aircraft configuration, operating area, and the list of additional assets they’d be working with.
Eventually, he caught himself staring at the board without seeing it. Instead, Penelope filled his mind.
Earlier, her skin had looked lightly tanned. It was summer, so a tan was expected. But he knew her skin looked that same way even in the middle of winter. Tiny freckles were sprinkled across her nose, cheekbones, and beneath the graceful lines of her eyebrows. She had an expressive mouth and slate blue eyes.
Her hair was mostly caramel brown in color, but lightened here and there by strands of dark gold. She wore it in long, natural waves that always reminded him of a day at the beach even though they were hundreds of miles from the nearest coast.
He’d been drawn to her because of their similarities—their sense of humor, their faith, the importance they placed on their family. And because of their differences, too. He was factual and she was creative. He was strait-laced and she was quirky. He was a rule-follower and there was something just a little bit reckless about Penelope.
At last, he’d returned to Georgia. At last, he had an opportunity to convince her to give him a second chance.
•••
Keeping a newborn alive through the night made for seriously subpar sleep. Penelope had been awakened by Madeline three—or was it four?—times. There wasn’t enough iced tea in the world to vanquish the level of exhaustion she was experiencing this morning. It weighted her limbs and stuffed her head with wool.
Since she’d had no overnight bag, she’d made do by finger-brushing toothpaste onto her teeth last night and this morning, borrowing Aubrey’s face wash, and donning a yoga pants/exercise top set this morning that she’d found at the bottom of Aubrey’s drawer beneath pregnancy workout gear. Her hair was a tangle and she couldn’t wait to return to her own shower, clothing, and cosmetics.
At six forty-five, the doorbell rang and she swung the front door wide.
She found Eli standing on the threshold, hands in the pockets of his jeans. The name of his favorite band, The Cranberries, was written across his ivory T-shirt in washed-out gray.
A warm, melting sensation swirled within her torso. “You’re here,” she said.What an astonishing observation, Penelope. So astute!
“I am.”
The glitter of morning sunlight against glossy paint drew her focus to his Mustang parked on the curb. He’d purchased it from his grandfather, who restored classic cars. She, too, owned a ’70s Ford, which she’d once taken as a sign from heaven that a romance between them was destined.
“Come on in.” She held the door as he passed through.
“How’d it go last night?” he asked.
“I think it went fairly normally for Madeline, but I feel as though I’ve been hit in the face with a frying pan.” She led him into the living room. “She’s currently relaxing in this Moses basket type thing.”
“Is that for babies? It looks like something that should hold magazines.”
“I’m ninety percent sure it’s for babies.”
He lifted the basket. Turning it to face him, he contemplated the infant with a small, smitten smile that had the power to twist her resolve into a pretzel.
