Why didn’t I push harder?
Could I have saved him? Or saved Trev and Dani from the hell they both went through?
“Excuse me?” The sultry voice holds an edge of impatience, and I shake off the thoughts pinging around in my head and turn as she continues, “Lost in your own world, huh?”
The woman with her hand on the stool next to mine carries her exhaustion in the bags under her brown eyes, and her wariness in the stiffness of her shoulders.
“Sorry. Been a day,” I reply. “Can I help you…?”
“Just wanted to know if this stool was taken,” she says and gestures to the main seating area of the restaurant. In the twenty minutes I spent nursing my beer, reliving memories of Gil and all my other failures, apparently the rest of the hotel decided it was time to grab a drink.
“Nope. All yours.”
“Thanks.” She sinks heavily onto the well-worn leather seat and runs a hand through her sleek, dark brown hair. It’s cut short, with a few tendrils falling onto her forehead in gentle waves, and I catch the scent of lilacs as she leans over slightly to reach into her purse. A moment later, she coughs into her elbow a couple of times.
“You okay, miss?”
After a wheezing breath, she grabs the bottle of water the bartender set in front of her, nods, then takes a sip. “Fine. Stupid asthma. Someone was smoking just outside the lobby doors.” She doesn’t meet my gaze, instead focusing on the menu in front of her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” Staring at my beer, I try to forget the pain in Dani’s voice when I called her.
“I had one brother disappear on me, Austin. Are you trying to make it two? Because it sure seems that way.”
With a flinch, I drain my first beer and signal for another. The woman beside me glances over as I curl my fingers around the bottle, and something in her eyes is too alluring for me to turn away.
“You didn’t pry.” Her hesitant smile fades as she sets an inhaler on the bar top. “You were being a gentleman. Or…at least a halfway decent guy.”
I snort. “Can’t say I’m either. At least not anymore.” The alcohol is clearly going to my head, and I crack my knuckles to help me focus. “My mom has asthma. It only bothers her during ragweed season, but she has a couple bad attacks every year.”
“It’s the humidity for me.” She tilts her head and holds out her hand. “Mikayla.”
“Austin.”
Mikayla’s grip is solid, as is her stare, stripping me of my defenses layer by layer until I release her fingers and reach for my drink again.
“Not a whole lot of Americans in San Cristóbal de Las Casas this time of year,” she says. With a quick glance at the menu, she signals the bartender, then orders a taco plate and returns her focus to me. “Outside of my team, you’re the first one I’ve met. Or…at least the first one I’ve talked to.”
“Your team?” Curious, I shift on my stool and take her in. Petite. Maybe five-foot-five at most. Curvy, but compact. Flawless, tawny skin, high cheekbones, perfectly sculpted brows, delicate fingers.
Another smile, this one full of pride. “My graduate students. We’re researching an endangered orchid that only grows up in the mountains outside of Las Ollas.”
“An endangeredorchid?” I almost choke on my beer, but Mikayla’s completely serious, and bright streaks of copper shine in her eyes as she narrows them at me.
“Yes. An orchid.” With a huff, she reaches for her napkin and unfolds it across her lap. “What’s so unbelievable about that?”
“Nothing.” Holding up a hand, I duck my head so I can meet her gaze. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been around people in a while. I guess I forgot how to be—“
“Not a jerk?” Mikayla asks.
“Something like that.” I go for another sip of beer, then stop with the bottle halfway to my mouth. Alcohol won’t stop me from chewing on my boot again, and it’s been a long time since I actuallywantedto talk to someone. “Can we start over?”
The bartender returns with two plates of tacos and slides one in front of each of us. “Anything else?” he asks, and Mikayla eyes my beer.
“Any good?” At my nod, she adds, “Then I’ll have what he’s having. Also another bottle of water, please.”
As soon as the guy turns away, she holds out her hand again. “Dr. Mikayla Salim. But most people call me Mik.”
“Major General Austin Pritchard. United States Air Force.” The formal introduction rolls off my tongue like it’s second nature, and it is. Except that’s not who I am anymore. Flames crawl up my neck to my cheeks, and I quickly add, “Retired.”
