Page 63 of A Hero Comes Home

“Ya think? Wait till we go to town. They’ll be checking me out to see if I walk bowlegged or have a loopy grin on my face.”

“And me?”

“They’ll be counting the days till they see a baby bump on you.”

“Bite your tongue, boy.”

“I have better uses for my tongue, girl.”

And he did.

“Blow the Man Down,” or “Fire in the Hole”—either worked for these pirates . . .

The town bells rang eight times as Sally eased her way out of the bed, but even those sounds didn’t awaken her husband, who lay splayed out on his back, arms thrown over his head, legs spread. She’d worn the man out, Sally thought with a smile.

With his eyes closed and his face relaxed with satiation, he looked younger and less battle worn. God only knew where the eye patch had flown! Possibly under the bed.

Sally didn’t know if having sex with her husband was a mistake with all the baggage they both carried. Without a doubt, there were problems ahead for them, questions that would have to be answered, hurdles to overcome. Maybe insurmountable ones. But, for now, seeing Jake like this, she was pleased that she could do this for him.

Hah! Who am I kidding? It was for me, too.

She didn’t want to make any noise by opening a drawer; so, she just drew Jake’s T-shirt over her head. Its hem skimmed her midthigh, which should be okay, just in case a friendly Bell Coverite decided the two lovebirds didn’t have enough food to sustain them through a dirty weekend. She tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

It was still light outside, of course, so she didn’t need to turn on any lights in the kitchen, which was a blessing. A light might have signaled a neighbor to come over.

After setting a handled tray on the kitchen table, she took a bunch of the donated items from the fridge. A meal for herself and Jake would be welcome about now. Neither of them had eaten since lunchtime. And there had been all that hunger-inducing “activity.”

She started by buttering some of her very own slider rolls and filling them with paper-thin slices of roast beef from Abe’s deli, with arugula and Eliza Rutledge’s homemade horseradish sauce. Thick slices of beefsteak tomatoes from Elmer Judd’s garden over at the Patterson house were soon glistening with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, heavy on the salt and pepper. Three small bowls of salads: potato, shrimp, and fresh fruit. (And, no, she was not using Vana Gustafson’s lutefisk creation.) Deviled eggs from Ina Rogers. A plate of various pickles, olives, and hard cheeses with crackers, courtesy of Stu and Barb MacLeod of the Blanket-y Blank quilt store. Assorted cinnamon rolls from Delilah’s diner. A pitcher of iced sweet tea.

A half hour later, she struggled to carry the tray up the steps without spilling anything. Jake was sitting up in bed, reading some message on his cell phone, when she came in. Immediately, he placed the device on the bedside table and made room for her to set the tray on the middle of the bed.

“You read my mind, babe. My stomach’s growling as loud as those bells.”

“You heard the bells? I thought you were asleep.”

“I didn’t want to let you know I was awake and miss the sight of your bare butt sneaking out of bed. Or you raising your arms to put on my T-shirt. Or you bending over to put on a pair of slippers.”

She gave him a mock glower of disapproval and kicked the slippers off, moving onto the bed, carefully, to keep the tray level between them. “For the record, I wasn’t sneaking. I was being considerate.”

“Whatever you say. Please flash your ‘consideration’ at me anytime you want.” He smiled at her.

And her heart melted. A little bit. A lot more when she noticed that he’d put the eye patch back on. He must be self-conscious about how he looked.

They both sat cross-legged on either side of the tray and dug into the feast. The whole time they talked. Comfortably. Which was a treat for Sally, who’d felt as if she had to walk on eggshells around her husband since he’d come home, never sure what would be a forbidden subject.

First they talked about the possible addition to her bakery.

“Gabe will bring some architect drawings over for you to look at next week,” he told her. “Just preliminary stuff. Nothing too expensive or detailed until you decide for sure if this is what you want to do.”

“Not just me, Jacob. This has to be a joint decision.”

She could tell that he was about to disagree with her. He still wasn’t ready to commit to a long-term sojourn in Bell Cove, maybe even to their shaky marriage. At least, that was her opinion on his hesitation. In any case, he stopped himself from arguing with her on the “you” versus “us” issue, and instead said, “Once I have the costs worked out a little more, I’ll go to the bank for you.”

“I appreciate your offer, but we will go to the bank,” she corrected.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and gave her another heart-melting smile. “Just so we’re clear, I’m willing to do any grunt work you need to make this happen, but I still don’t think I could be involved in the actual operation. It’s just not me.”

“Good enough! I’ll appreciate anything you can do. I know nothing about construction. And this saves me time for other stuff.”