Cary held a grudge.
But that was ten years ago. And it had been fourteen years since he and Shiloh were together—and they’d onlybeentogether for two days.
Cary had grown up since then. He’d fallen in love with someone else. Then watched it fall apart. He’d moved around. Moved up. He’d made enough mistakes to recognize some patterns.
Cary had eventually stopped nursing his hurt feelings about Shiloh because he had other things to do. And now when he thought about her, there was no more gravel and broken glass mixed in—he just missed her. He wanted to see her. When he thought about the fact that she was divorced, his heartbeat picked up.
Mikey knew it.
When they sat down next to each other at the wedding reception, at the head table, Mikey said, “Have you seen Shy?”
“No,” Cary said, “I don’t think she’s here.” He’d scanned the church for her, and then the reception hall.
Mikey made a face like he felt sorry for Cary. “Sorry, pal. She’s still a flake.”
A lot of their other high school friends were at the reception. And Mikey was on cloud nine—he was so in love with Janine, and they were secretly expecting; Cary was one of the only people who knew. It was still going to be a good night, and Cary would have a full day to spend with his mom tomorrow. He had a list of action items for her.
He loosened his tie a little. He ran his fingers through his hair. He made eye contact with Shiloh.
Shiloh...
Sitting at the back of the room.
She waved.
Shiloh’s hair was long again. Long enough to pull up. In high school, it had fallen almost to her waist—it was as thick as Cary’s wrist when she wore it in a braid.
She was wearing flowers. She was always wearing flowers. She was waving at him again.
Intellectually, Cary knew that Shiloh was not in fact the most beautiful woman in the world.
Some of the boys in high school had called her “Sasquatch” when she wasn’t around, even her friends. She was taller than most of them. She had broader shoulders. She had wider hips.
Her skin was darker than Cary’s. Redder. But still like milk. Like pearls. Luminous. She had big brown eyes and eyebrows you could see from the cheap seats. A wide, wild smile. Her eyeteeth were too prominent, and her bottom teeth were a wreck—you couldn’t always see them, but when you could, it made Cary weak.
He was halfway across the ballroom before he realized what he was doing.
He was going to end up on his knees, crawling to her.
Fifty-Four
“Travis...LieutenantJones,we’re done here. Meeting over.”
“Sir.” Travis snapped to attention. He was about Cary’s age, a good junior officer. He could be too jocular sometimes—too quick to joke when they were on task, it’s why people liked him—but he was smart and creative, and he never blew Cary off.
“Are you with us today?” Cary asked.
“Yes, OPS,” Travis said.
Cary was still getting used to that title—“OPS,” said like “hops” or “crops.” This was his first deployment as operations officer.
“Yes, sir,” Travis added, glancing around the empty office. His eyes were red. He looked tired. They were all tired, but Travis looked especially done in.
The other officers had already moved on, back to their posts. “Are you okay?” Cary asked.
“Yes, sir.” Travis nodded.
“No, I’m serious—are you okay?”
