This is a much more personal conversation than I thought we’d be having tonight. But there’s something about this man I trust, and it’s not just his collection of medals and commendations. “Well, there have only been three of them,” I admit.
“Shit. Mikayla. Why? You’re smart, fucking gorgeous, and incredibly sexy. Men should be falling at your feet and begging you to spend time with them.”
My cheeks catch fire, and I pull my hands from his when the server comes to take our order. “Margarita?” Austin asks.
“I’ve never had one.” His brows shoot up, furrowing his forehead, and I stammer, “I-I don’t usually drink. Just a beer…uh, once in a while. I’ll take an Agua Fresca.”
Alone again—or as alone as we can be on a patio full of people—I fiddle with the tablecloth. “I’m not good at relationships. I studyendangered orchids. I have two Ph.Ds. I’m much better with microscopes and soil acidity, and…numbersthan people. I spent the day analyzing the cellular structure of half a dozen root samples from the grow sites we have access to, then entering data for three hours.”
“Three hours?” He frowns, then rubs his hand over his jaw. “Shit. Sorry. That came out wrong. But I don’t know anything about orchids. Or most plants, for that matter. What’s there to study?”
“The Blushing Note orchid is one of the largest in the world. Some of the plants weigh close to fifty kilograms. And its roots and flowers…they’re poisonous. A self-defense mechanism it developed. The dried particles are a powerful phytotoxin, but there’s a researcher at Johns Hopkins who thinks he can use that phytotoxin as a component in a treatment for Parkinson’s. But the orchid’s endangered. Almost extinct. And…I’m babbling. You really don’t want me to bore you with all the details. This is my passion, and evenIthink a lot of what we’re doing here is…well, dry as all get out.”
There’s that laugh again. The one that sends those butterflies all the way down to my toes. “All get out?”
“I…I don’t swear much either. Or at all. Crap on a cracker was the most vulgar phrase my parents allowed when I was growing up.” My cheeks warm, and I do the quick mental math. Four hours last night. Another hour tonight. Five. Yep. About the length of time most men take to figure out I was raised Muslim. Then run away.
“Oh. Shit.” Austin’s eyes widen. “Shoot?”
Now I’ve done it. “It doesn’t offend me when other people swear. And no one should have to change their behavior because of how I was raised. Really, I almost wish Ididswear. But my parents don’t allow it in their house, and keeping things…clean makes it easier when I see them.”
“That’s…” Austin gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then focuses back on me, “actually sweet. But I have to ask. You rarely drink, rarely date, and don’t swear…?”
Taking a deep breath, I hold his gaze. “I was raised Muslim. My parents are devout, and while I’m not, I respect their choices. If that’s a problem for you, please tell me now? My last boyfriend didn’t tell me for weeks. James the Jerk just wanted to get me into bed. Once he did, he called my parents terrorists, and I never saw him again.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them away. I won’t let James ruin this night for me. Assuming I haven’t ruined it all on my own.
Austin sits back in his chair and stretches his legs under the table so the outside of his thigh touches mine. “Mik, I’m not that shallow. Or judgmental. Or…any of those things James the Jerk apparently was. In fact, if you want me to find him and punch him into next week, I will. Or at least threaten him a little.”
He’s completely serious. Now, I’m the one who’s shocked. “But you’re… I Googled you,” I say as I stare down at the rose. “You fought in Afghanistan. Iraq. My parents are Syrian. They applied for refugee status before I was born, became citizens ten years ago or so, and they love the United States. They’re the most peace-loving people you’ll ever meet, but still—“
“Hold up right there, sweetheart. Any man who would walk away from you because your parents are Muslim is a fucking idiot.” He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. “I used to be damn high up in military intelligence. Which means I’ve been trained to read micro-expressions. Tone of voice. Body language. You don’t have to convince me of anything. Being Muslim doesn’t make your parents terrorists. Or anything other than two people I hope I get to meet someday.”
I relax a little, letting his gentle touch soothe my pounding heart. “You’re too good to be true.”
Austin snorts. “If I were…” With a shake of his head, he releases my hand. “You don’t get where I was without a whole lot of bad disguised as good.” The sadness in his voice makes my heart hurt, and I want to ask him to explain, but the server drops off two plates of tacos and our drinks, and he looks so relieved, I let it go.
For now.
Austin
“So, tell me about your family,” Mikayla says when the server drops off a dish of flan for us to share.
“Mom and Dad live in New Haven. I was an only child for almost thirteen years, and then they decided to adopt. Dani was nine, and Gil—“ I swallow hard, “—he was my age.”
“Was that hard? Suddenly having to share your parents?” Mik drains the last of her Aqua Fresca and grins. “My cousin lived with us for a couple of years, and I washorribleto my parents for at least six months. Until they grounded us both for sneaking out of the house—separately. We had to spend all weekend cleaning out the garage together and she told me what her home life had been like before. We bonded after that.”
Running a hand through my hair, I pin my gaze over her shoulder, unable to look her in the eyes. “Nah. Dani was too cute to resent, and Gil…he and I were close for a while.”
“Just for a while?” Her delicate fingers slide over mine, and I want to pull away, but there’s something magnetic and calming about her touch. Something that frees the words stuck in my throat.
“When I enlisted…things went south pretty quick.” Shaking my head, I swallow hard. “He died five years ago.”
“Oh, Austin. I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand, her eyes shining, and I pick up my spoon, needing to turn the focus of this conversation away from me. And Gil. Before I can no longer keep everything he did to me bottled up inside where it belongs.
“What about your cousin? Are you two still close?”
“We talk on the phone at least once a month. But she moved to France a few years ago. Fell in love with a great guy. So we don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like.”
