“My dad thought it might help,” she says lightly. “Being here. Settling in. Figuring things out.”
Michael nods, thoughtful, not pressing. “Sometimes that’s all it takes. Being around the right people.”
Her gaze flickers to me for the briefest moment before she turns professional again, straightening slightly.
“What can I get you, Captain?”
The title lands between us, careful and deliberate.
“A beer, please,” I say evenly, holding her eyes for a second longer than necessary—long enough to register the quiet strength there. Soft, but steady. Warm, but resiliant.
She turns to pour, and I’m left with the unsettling realization that gentleness doesn’t make her fragile. It makes her powerful.
Enchanting.
The thought is accurate, but again, it must be because I haven’t been around civilians in a while. It’s like not having chocolate in years, taking one bite, and deciding the taste is moan worthy. After four full-sized candy bars, it becomes a nightmare.
That’s what it has to be.
It’s the only sane option, but it still feels … wrong. Like that description falls short of the way my entire body wants to soften when she smiles at me.
She nods once. “Of course. That’s the favorite tonight. I was hoping that some of the special cocktails we worked on would be appreciated, but …” She shrugs. “I should have listened to Ryan.”
“Ooh, I’m a sucker for a rum runner,” Michael hums.
As she talks about the ingredients, she lights up. She somehow gets Michael talking about he’d like more events at the Ridgehouse to encourage everyone to come together more often. Hailey’s smile is so genuine and real as she talks about her ideas that I’m spell bound, hanging on her excitement as if I can make it my own.
Something about the way she happily dives into conversations, gives each person attention as she moves down the line and encourages them to share is unique. I don’t think I’ve seen half of these old men as willing to share as they are now.
Hailey doesn’t back down from stories about war, but somehow she manages to guide each one somewhere lighter—finding a human angle, a moment of humor, a memory that leaves the men smiling when she moves on. When she comes back to us, Michael is already deep in conversation with a younger woman about opportunities at the Post.
“Do you need another beer?” Hailey asks.
I lift my half-finished glass. “I’m fine.”
She studies me for a beat, openly now, not pretending to tidy the bar or keep herself busy.
“I remember you… a little,” she says. “It’s hazy. You probably don’t remember me the same way. I’ve changed. Grown up.”
“You have,” I say, then add quietly, “Hailey Carter.”
Her eyes widen just a fraction before a soft smile curves her mouth. “So you do remember.”
“I do,” I admit. I had already placed her earlier—her name, her father, the familiar weight that came with it. Seeing her now only sharpened that recognition. “Hard to forget.”
Her blush returns, warmer this time, the teasing edge of her smile lingering as she leans slightly over the counter.
Of course it would be her.
Not a stranger. Not a coincidence. Colonel Carter’s daughter—spoken aloud only minutes ago, already present in my thoughts, already a boundary I shouldn’t even be standing this close to. Off-limits, no matter the color rising in her cheeks, thequiet confidence in her gaze, or the way her nearness tightens something low in my stomach and stirs instincts I’d buried long ago.
Some lines are drawn for a reason.
I just wish my body wasn’t already testing how close I could stand to one without crossing it.
Chapter 3 - Hailey
The event was a clear success, full of laughter and easy conversation, but my thoughts keep circling back to Wes.
