Page 5 of Say Yes
We will never forget.
Balewa. It’s obvious this is not a brother or other family member. He is—the years of birth and death are listed, the last date only three years ago—or was, her husband. My heart drops to my stomach. She’s a widow.
“We’d only been married six months when he died.” Lindsay’s voice comes from just behind me and catches me off guard. I turn around and she’s staring at the photo. While I feel sympathy for her loss, selfishly, I study her expression, looking for any indication that she is still hung up on him.
I feel like a complete bastard when I inwardly sigh in relief because all I see is pride and affection. I change the subject.
“Balewa?” I ask. Lindsay’s features are gorgeous, a perfect blend of cultures. She is clearly of African descent, but her lighter skin, pert little nose, and the shape of her eyes hint at the mix of another nationality. Before I knew she was widowed, I assumed she had an African father, inheriting his surname. Looking at the fair-skinned, towheaded, blue-eyed man in the photo, I’m a little confused.
Lindsay laughs and folds her arms across her chest. I command my eyes to stay on her face. “My father was Italian, and my mother was first generation American. Her parents were from West Africa.”
“Was?” The past tense in which she referred to her parents didn’t escape me.
She shrugs. “They died when I was a freshman in college. Car accident.”
After a pregnant pause, her eyes drift to the photo again. “Anyway, Paul was actually South African, though he was raised in the United States since he was around eleven. Anyway, it was actually quite the joke between us that I ended up with an African last name.” She chuckles again and meets my gaze. “My maiden name is actually Bianchi.”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
She holds up her hands like she’s surrendering. “I am not pulling your leg, I swear.” We smile at each other for a suspended moment, then she narrows her eyes and surveys me from head to toe. “What about you, Major Black?” she asks with a cheeky grin.
I shrug with a mock sigh. “At the risk of you not being completely fascinated by me anymore”—she rolls her eyes—“I’ll admit, I’m boring. Both parents are full blood Choctaw. Same with the grandparents and so on.”
“Not boring,” she says with a shake of her head, her eyes crinkling with happiness. “A legacy.”
I’m silent for a moment, and the air thickens. “Perhaps I’ll be a rebel and break tradition.” I didn’t expect these words to come out of my mouth. I’m not even sure where the fuck they came from. She turns away from me without comment, both of us letting it pass on by.
“This wall is incredible,” I tell her as I gaze at it again with awe.
Her beaming smile grows bigger, and I feel it all over. “Thanks. It’s open to any military personnel who come into the shop. Former military, active, retired—they are all welcome to leave their mark on it.”
I am impressed and warmth spreads through my chest. She is proving to be more than I first thought. Not only is she drop-dead gorgeous, but I like her personality and want to get to know her. Don’t get me wrong, I was practically desperate to fuck her, but it dawned on me that I wanted time with her outside the bedroom.
I’d come to the shop with the intention of wooing her home with me and into my bed. My tactical plan suddenly changes.
I tuck my hands into the pocket of my jeans, more to keep from touching her than anything. “Have dinner with me tonight,” I request.
She tilts her head—her face a mask of surprise—and bites her plump lower lip. I try to keep my head in the game, but it’s really hard (yeah, yeah, go ahead, laugh) not to imagine being the one biting the pink flesh, or seeing them wrapped around my dick.
I look away for a second, attempting to calm my body down, and my eyes land on the wall. Shit. It occurs to me then that I’m lusting after a woman right in front of her dead husband. As if I didn’t already feel guilty enough for pursuing the woman of a fallen brother.
Taking her hand, I lead her to a table on the other side of the bakery and release it only to pull out a chair for her. She wavers but ultimately sits. I drag another seat over and plant my ass in it, as close to her as possible. Satisfaction floods me when she doesn’t move away. Progress.
“Please have dinner with me tonight?” I ask again. It’s going against my grain to make this entreaty. I want to demand her acceptance, but even after only this very short time in her presence, it’s clear to me that she is incredibly strong and independent. She’s not going to let me steamroll her into anything. From the way her eyes flared after she fell into my arms last night, though, and the goose bumps that follow the path of my finger as I draw it down her arm, I’m confident of the . . . other skills I have to earn her capitulation.
She shakes her head and quickly rushes from the room. I sit back, quietly simmering with frustration before taking my leave. My determination to break through her wall is confusing. Why am I pursuing her so hard? The answer doesn’t hover in my mind; it picks up a mega phone and shouts at me. I’ve never felt this strongly for a woman. There is the blazing attraction, of course. Besides that, I don’t know exactly what it is, but I felt an immediate emotional connection to her. Even more than that, I’ve rarely experienced a desire to be with a woman outside the bedroom.
Defeat is not in my vocabulary. I resolve to win this battle. For the next four weeks, I show up at her shop every day. Sometimes for breakfast and a quick hello, sometimes I cajole her into having lunch with me, though we don’t leave her little sanctuary.
Three days ago, I was forced to leave her due to a booking I hadn’t been able to foist off on anyone. The idea of giving her time to second guess when I wasn’t there to head it off had me in a shit mood the entire time I was gone. My saving grace was that when I called her each morning and before bed, she always seemed pleased to hear from me.
I returned home early this morning, unpacked, and crashed for a few hours. Just before noon, I stroll into the bakery and my eyes immediately land on Lindsay. Drinking in the sight of her, my body seems to uncoil from the tense state I’d been in while away. Fuck, I missed her.
She seems to sense my presence because her head snaps up, and she looks right in my direction. Her face lights up when she sees me, and the last of the pressure inside me seeps out.
“You’re back,” she says with a big smile.
My lips curve up, and I cock my head in the direction of our table. She nods and says something to a young man, another employee I recognize, but don’t really know. Over the time I’ve been coming here, I’ve noticed he seems to have a bit of a crush on my girl. Since he’s practically a kid, no older than twenty, I’d guess, I hadn’t made an issue out of it.