Page 11 of A Spark of Luck (The Defenders #2)

Hunt surveyed the tables of his favorite San Diego mom and pop diner.

The afternoon waned in the day’s heat. A sweltering summer simmered to a close.

The restaurant stayed mellow and quiet. The white tables with their blue cushions, the nautical theme on the walls, and the white tile floor hadn’t changed since he’d started coming here four years ago.

Five people total in the whole place defined the late afternoon crowd including two police officers in the opposite corner and Carl and Maisy Craig, the owners.

Carl was a tall, lean man with a raspy voice who was a retired Navy cook.

He mostly stayed to his kitchen watching science fiction shows on his television while cooking.

Maisy, his wife and head waitress, wore a purple flowered dress today with a white apron, her hair back in a short ponytail. She moved on silent feet to his table and slid his burger, fries, caramel shake, and warmed apple pie onto the table.

“There you go. Glad you’re back.” She winked at him, her brown eyes alight with pleasure, and hurried back into the kitchen.

He took Doogie’s habit and pulled the pie toward him.

He inhaled three bites before stopping. Boy that went down good after weeks of MREs and quick meals.

He’d been around the world repeatedly for ten of the last twelve months, leaving him bone-tired and worn out by the continued, close-to-the-vest way his emotions were locked in.

Maisy came back through the swinging door with the coffee pot. At the table, she gave him a smile. “Refill?”

“No, I’m good.” Hunt slid his cup to the edge of the table for her to take.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. They bouncing you around?” She slipped a finger through the cup and balanced it with the pot.

“Yep.” His one-bedroom apartment was three blocks over. He didn’t bother to cook much or stock the kitchen when the team was home because it would waste away in his fridge when he was called out. When in town, he used this diner as his feeding place.

“Well, Carl’s cooking steaks with a great sauce for the special tonight. You come back at dinner.”

Hunt nodded. “I’ll wander in.”

“We’ll save your corner. Keep waiting for you to find a cute missy and get married. You need somebody to take care of you.” Maisy’s friendliness settled in the restless spot that was riding him. ”

Hunt snorted, putting down his pie fork.

“Don’t hold your breath, Maisy.” Visions of Cait stroking him with the kind of care that was addictive flashed through his mind and didn’t mean a thing.

He’d been months remembering, analyzing, digging deeper into his psyche than he liked trying to figure out why he remained tied by her tether.

“You know my Carl was afraid of commitment too until he met me. Sometimes it’s the right person at the right time, hon.” She hurried off at the signal from the officers in the opposite corner of the restaurant.

He kept his focus on her clearing their table and taking the to-go coffee orders, but it wasn’t enough to stop Cait’s beautiful face from flooding his consciousness.

He could still see the blue of her eyes, feel the silk of her pretty hair, and smell the sweet lotion she wore on her skin.

He had no idea at the time that the fragrance would stick with him and taunt him at odd moments.

The feel of her hands on him was enough of a memory flash to tighten his lower body.

After long hours of thought, he concluded that one quick interlude with her would never have been enough.

Simple fact. He’d been rescued by duty. If circumstances had been different, would he have found himself repeatedly panting after her and making a fool of himself, or was this whole obsession deeper and necessary to his future.

? He’d seen more than a few of his teammates either get snagged by a frog hog or chasing after women who couldn’t stand what they did for a living.

Seemed like there was not an in between.

He didn’t gossip. He didn’t share. He didn’t carry around women issues. All those things he kept telling his brain. Except in the past three hundred and sixty-two days and nights, he’d dreamed of her, thought about her, obsessed over her safety, even searched for her on the internet.

Yes, he found her, but he purposefully did not take leave, did not buy a plane ticket to Texas, or do a search for a phone number.

Until he figured out what this was and what he wanted from her, he stayed far, far away. That logically he might need to spend more time with her to figure that out gnawed at him.

He had no experience with long-term relationships, did not know how to be a boyfriend or husband – and whoa howdy, he was not going to be that, yet he felt an aching wound inside from being apart from her.

He should never have had sex with her.

He closed the door on the fact he’d been fascinated with her long before those vivid moments.

Because if he recognized that fascination, he had to face up to the question – why wasn’t it okay to be attracted to her?

Why couldn’t he buy a ticket and go to Texas to see if she felt the same?

All this overanalyzing fear of taking the risk wasn’t him.

He’d gotten himself out of a horrible home no thanks to any authorities who should have been paying closer attention to the constant abuse.

He’d gotten himself out of high school by sheer determination.

He stayed out of trouble, qualified for the Navy, and conquered BUD/S training.

He’d gone to officer training and earned his master’s degree in mathematics when many instructors, both Navy and civilian, had nixed the idea.

Every step of the way, he tackled what was in front of him and never faltered.

What the hell was the difference with Cait?

If he fell in love – and yes, dammit, he’d asked himself if that was the case and then dismissed it.

He didn’t truly know her, so how could that be true?

Where would that lead anyway? He was Navy, with no plans to give that up.

She was Army, with no plans – at least none that he knew of – to give that up, and that wasn’t the real stumbling block.

Hell, he didn’t even have a sofa in his apartment, let alone any type of home life.

The divorce rate in the SEALs was like seventy percent.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to ignore that fact .

“Something wrong with your burger and fries?” Maisy stood polishing the counter, keeping an eye on his eating pleasure.

“No, distracted with a work issue.” He shifted his plate and picked up a fry. His phone buzzed. Doogie.

He’d been keeping him at a distance because the man was better than a Ouija board, tarot cards, and a crystal ball rolled together. But that’s not what friends did to friends, and he’d stewed in this long enough.

He texted Doogie his location and invited him to Craig’s Home Café to join him.

Three hundred and sixty-two days of this craptastic argument in his head.

Three hundred and sixty-two days of unrelenting hurt from the reality of not having her next to him.

Honestly, a talk with the shrink might be in order, but he would never admit any of what he was thinking to anyone in a professional capacity. Doogie was a better choice.

He toyed with his meal to keep his hands occupied, lost in every nuance of his memories – Cait’s eyes, her hands, her sighs.

Doogie slid in across from him. “You napping or what? ”

“Waiting for you. I know better than to finish dessert without you.”

Maisy reached the table. “What can I get you?”

Doogie looked to Hunt. “What’s good?”

“Everything.”

Maisy smiled. “Glad you think so.”

Doogie didn’t even go for the menu propped by the napkins on the table. “You got chicken fried steak and French fries?”

“Yes. You want that with pie or vegetables?”

“Both.” Doogie grinned. “Apple pie and don’t care what kind of vegetable. Throw it on. Water to drink is fine.”

Maisy looked at Hunt. “Need anything else?”

“More coffee would be great, Maisy. Thank you.”

She gave him a grin. “I knew it.”

Doogie watched her walk away and continued with a thorough look around. “You eat here a lot?”

“Yes.” Hunt nodded at the front door. “Exit up front, exit out the kitchen, and another one by the rest rooms on the other end. Police and locals mostly eat here.”

Doogie smirked. “You caught me. Why have I never eaten here with you?”

“Never came up, and it’s my thinking spot.”

“You can’t have friends in your thinking spot? ”

“Will you stop.” Hunt threw his napkin at the man.

Doogie caught it and tossed it back. “Lame throw. What’s up?” He stole a fry off Hunt’s plate.

“Cait Michaels.”

Doogie froze, French fry halfway to his mouth. His eyebrows rose. “Are you serious?” His voice dropped into a half whisper, half reference tone.

“Yes.”

“Finally.” He grinned and popped the fry into his mouth. “Do tell.”

Jesus, where to begin.

“She’s in San Antonio.”

Doogie’s eyes widened. “Dude, you looked for her?”

“Yes.”

“In a stalking way, or a ‘I want to go see her’ way?”

Hunt tipped his head in disgust. “In a ‘I want to go see her’ way.”

“Talked to her?”

“No, not yet.”

“Chicken?”

Hunt sighed. “No. Yes. Maybe.” He shredded his napkin and tossed it away.

Doogie shifted to serious. “Maybe you better tell me what happened. ”

Hunt cleared his throat. “We might have had a uh…moment after I got hurt.”

He slapped the table. “I owe myself twenty bucks.”

Maisy strolled up to the table and dropped Doogie’s plates and Hunt’s coffee. “Anything else?”

“No, this looks great.” Doogie used his charming smile and made Maisy giggle as she walked away.

Hunt shook his head. “That. I need to know how to do that.”

“What?”

“Charm because she’s going to be pissed at me. Hell, I would be. I got paged and walked out right after… you know.” Holy Mary and her little lamb. He was a hardened warrior. Why couldn’t he say they’d had sex.