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A gentle salt breeze came from the ocean, providing slight relief from the heat of the day. The beachside café was pleasantly crowded, but the outdoor seating provided a bit of distance between the patrons. Small tables shaded by large umbrellas; soft music pumped through hidden speakers. You’re seated at one of those tables with your aunt who is happily chatting your ear off about her day. It’s comfortable, and familiar and you stretch your legs out a little bit, sighing with contentment. Your phone is next to your empty snack plate, and you glance at the screen when it lights up, not recognizing the number. You reject the call, offering an apologetic grin to your aunt at the interruption. Almost immediately the number flashes again, and you pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ms.—”
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?” You press the phone a little closer to your ear.
“Ma’am, this is Lieutenant Marshall calling from Naval Station North Island Medical Center, I’m calling to inform you that Lieutenant Robert Floyd was injured today in a training accident.”
Your heart drops, feeling your coffee threaten to come back up. “What did you say?”
“Lieutenant Floyd was injured in a training accident, and you’re his emergency contact…”
“North Island?” You interrupt.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You twist in your chair, instinctively looking in the direction of the base. “I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken with him in a little while. Is he able to receive visitors?”
“Yes ma’am. I can’t give any more details over the phone.”
“I understand. Thank you so much for calling me.” You hang up your phone, putting it back on the table. Your hand trembles as it covers your mouth, your other arm hugging your midsection.
“What’s wrong?” Your aunt looks at you, concern wrinkling her brow.
You shake your head, “Robbie’s in the hospital. He was in an accident.” It takes you three times to pick up your purse, keys clutched in your hand. “I’ll be home when I can, okay. I’m sorry.” You get to your feet, kissing your aunt on the cheek before leaving.
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The hospital looms in front of you, your purse clutched in your hands. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and enter. You’re able to find the wing he’s in, and uniformed personnel at the nurse’s station let you know what room is his. Standing outside the closed door, you stare at it. You haven’t seen Robert in four years, and the way you had parted, didn’t exactly lend itself to a happy reunion. Desperately hoping your heartbeat slows its race in your chest, you place your hand on the handle, and step inside.
There’s two other people in the room. A dark-haired woman in a hospital gown sat on one bed, a man in a folding chair between the two beds, his flight suit unzipped to the waist. In front of him, a small table, cards in his hand. Worry creased his brow, and he glanced at woman who shrugged. Your gaze landed on Robert. Robbie. He was seated in the other bed, holding two cards in his hand.
You swallow, throat so incredibly dry. What strikes you is how small he looks in that bed, and the way his weight is shifted favoring his left side. There’s a brilliant bloom of green and yellow under the neckline of the hospital gown, spanning his shoulder, collar bone and up one side of his neck. “Hey,” you manage.
He says your name, and your heart nearly stops.
It takes a few moments for you to realize that he’s still talking. You shake your head, blinking everything back into focus. “I’m sorry?”
“Why are you here?”
You lick your lips, looking down at the too shiny linoleum. “One of the med staff called me to inform me that you were in an accident.”
Color rises on his cheekbones and he clears his throat. “It’s good to see you, but why are you here. Shouldn’t you be in New York?”
“I’m on sabbatical,” shifting your weight, “My aunt needed some help with some things, and mom couldn’t come out, and I had the leave.” You realize that you’re rambling, and all the attention is on you. “The nurse said they were just keeping you for observation, and I’m interrupting something, so I-ah, I’m going to go home.” You rub at the back of your neck. “I’m glad you’re alright Robbie.”
At the nickname, he swings his legs out of the bed, getting to his feet. Carefully he lifts the iv tubing from the guard rails and holds onto the stand. “It’s time for me to take a walk, either of you need anything?” He glances at the other two who quickly pretend to be more interested in the cards in their hands.
“You should get back in bed.”
He's coming closer, and he shakes his head. “I’m supposed to get up and walk every hour. So is Phoenix, but she’s busy taking all of Rooster’s cash.” His hand rests lightly at your elbow walking with you down the hallway to an abandoned waiting room. He waits until you sit, and he beings walking the aisle.
“What happened?”
“We had a bird strike, lost one of the engines. Phoenix and I couldn’t recover, and we had to eject.” His voice is soft, so gentle, the hint of a drawl coming in softening the words even better. He sounds like home, and you miss it. “I had a bit of a rough landing, they’re worried about some bruising on my ribs, but everything came back clean.”
He’s done two laps around the waiting room, and he’s leaning against his Iv pole watching you. Those bright blue eyes that saw more than he let on, a fierce intelligence shining from behind his glasses were focused on you. “I thought I had changed it. I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you worry.”
“His call sign is Rooster?” You wanted to change the subject, and quickly. His words turned over in your head, and you believed that he didn’t want you to worry.
He smiles then, and you know he’s going to be okay. “Yeah, but I can’t really say anything about it, especially with mine.”
“What’s the latest guess for what Bob stands for?”
Another smile, this time followed by a low chuckle. And that rolls right down your spine, making you shiver. “Current standing thought is baby on board.” He shrugs, “it’s fun to hear them guess. None of them have come close though.”
“I’m really glad you’re okay.” You can’t look at him, and instead study the carpet, lower lip worried between your teeth. You can hear him moving, and his hospital issued yellow no-skid socks appear in your line of sight.
The way he says your name reminds you of the times he’d whisper it in the dark against your ear. His fingers are so warm, so light as they tip your chin up, his brow furrowing. His thumb swipes at your cheek wiping away errant tears. “I’m okay, I never wanted to make you feel like this.”
You get to your feet, wrapping your arms around him. He’s tense for a moment, before relaxing against you. His cheek rests against the top of your head. It’s comforting, familiar and you feel so damn lonely when you let him go.
The sound of a man clearing his throat makes you take a few steps toward the left, putting distance between you and Robert. Rooster is watching the two of you, and he rubs the back of his neck. “The nurses sent me to come get him. Visiting hours are over.”
“I’ll go back to the room; can you make sure she gets to her car?” Bob says. “It’s getting late.”
“Sure thing man,” Rooster claps him on the shoulder as he passes. “Either me or Seresin will pick you and Nat up in the morning. Just let us know when you’re discharged.”
You fall into step with Rooster, who had fixed his flight suit. His hands are in his pocket, and he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye. “Is he really okay, or is he just saying it so I don’t get upset.”
“Physically, he’s fine. The stress may hit him later. It’s intense, but Bob’ll handle it.” He presses the button for the elevator. “Phoenix is an amazing pilot. What happened was out of either of their control. It could have happened to any of us.” He pats you on the shoulder, “He’s got you though, and we’re here for you.”
The elevator doors slide closed once you’re both inside. “I haven’t seen Robert in years.” You look up at Rooster. “The last thing I said to him…” You shake your head, “I’m glad he has you guys. And a good pilot.” Rooster walks you to your car, holding onto the open car door.
“What’s your number?” He’s got his phone in his hand. “I’ll send it to Bob and you two can catch up later.”
“I don’t think—”
“Humor me.” You give him your number and get into the driver’s seat. He waits until you’re buckled in, “Get home safe alright? We’ll look after him.” Rooster shuts your door, knocking on the doorframe before he’s walking away.
You put your car in gear, driving back to your aunt’s place. The house is dark, except for the porch light. The sound of your car door echoing in the quiet of the night. There’s a note on the fridge, letting you know that there’s leftovers. The ache in your stomach and worry for Robert makes the thought of food sounds very unappealing, so you trudge back to your room.
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The sky is overcast, and the breeze is a little cooler off the ocean this morning. You’re curled up under a blanket on the back porch, the quiet punctuated by the groan of the porch swing as you rock gently. The Pacific Ocean is angry today, the waves crashing against the shoreline. It’s also early enough that the damp sand is free of tourists, so you’ve got an uninterrupted view of the rough waves. Your work lap top sits next to you, the screen open and bright, emails open, but you can’t bring yourself to look at them.
You wrap your hands a bit tighter around your mug, the rich dark coffee slowly bringing order to your senses. You hadn’t slept well, giving up the attempts somewhere between four and five in the morning. Next to you, your phone screen lights up.
“Did you get home okay last night?”
You don’t recognize the number, and figure it was Rooster checking in on you on behest of Bob.
“Yes, thank you. :) How’s Robert doing?”
“I didn’t expect you to be awake.”
You stare at that message, fingers posed over the keyboard on your phone screen. “Couldn’t sleep. Now I’m not answering emails and watching the waves. Shouldn’t you be resting?” You watch that he starts to type, a few times before the screen goes dark.
“You still like cinnamon rolls, right?”
In the distance you can hear a car door open and close, and you look over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps on the wooden porch behind you. Robert shifts his weight looking a little sheepish, a white bakery box in his hands—a box that smelled of warm cinnamon and sugar.
“I was going to leave these on the porch for you.” His gaze meets yours, before it’s sliding to the left. “Since you’re awake, we could split one.”
He's there, and he’s standing on his own. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose sweatshirt emblazoned with the navy logo, his hair tousled, sleep still evident in his eyes. You get up from the swing, putting your mug on the porch railing. Lifting the box from his hands, you set it on the bench, and wrap yourself around him in a hug. He returns the gesture, arms tight around you, one hand at the back of your neck, holding you against his chest.
“I’ve got you, Sweet.” He murmurs, and it makes your heart stop momentarily.
“Let me get you a cup of coffee.” You untangle yourself from him, swiping at your eyes. “Do you have time for that before you have to report?”
“I’m on med detail for the next twenty-four hours.” He says lips twisting slightly. “I’m grounded and off until tomorrow.”
“Stay for a bit then.” You turn to head back inside, pausing to glance over your shoulder at him before you go inside. He’s watching you, expression soft. He’s unreadable as always, it was the one thing that bothered you about him. You pour a mug for him, filling up a thermos, and grabbing a couple of forks before heading back outside.
“You remembered where my aunt lives?”
He rubs the back of his neck with an easy grin. “You brought me here a couple times. You know how my brain works.”
“Not entirely.” You set the tray on the small table on the deck, and hand him the coffee. He exchanges mugs with you, holding the swing still so you can sit down. He sits next to you, tucking the blanket around both of you. You hand him a fork and open the box of cinnamon rolls. “Are these from Ford’s?”
“Yeah, I got there right when they opened.” He says easily. There’s a small bakery on the edge of town that made donuts and cinnamon rolls—only until they sold out. Most days there were lines around the block, and they closed within a few hours. It takes a few moments but you’re able to wrestle one out of the box and onto the plate you brought out. He takes the plate from you, holding onto it. “Go ahead.”
“We’re sharing right?”
He nods, “I also know what happens when someone gets between you and pastry.”
The first bite is heavenly, spicy cinnamon blended with butter and rich, fluffy bread. The sugar adds intense sweetness, and it’s perfectly balanced. Eyes closed, you tip your head back, enjoying the taste. You take another bite, licking the stray bit of frosting from your knuckle. “I can’t believe you managed to get these.”
“A peace offering.” Robert mutters, swallowing. He wipes the corner of his mouth, tongue meeting his thumb. “It’s good to see you, and I wanted to let you know that.”
“I’m sorry Robbie,” the words slip out around a swallow of coffee. It was something that you had wanted to say to him so many times. So many abandoned text messages, so many unwritten letters. You had a stash of them under the mattress in your bedroom. There was so much that you wanted to say, so much that needed to be said—and yet all that would come out is an apology.
The minutes stretch between you, and once more you wish that the ability to pluck the words from the air was reality.
“Have dinner with me tonight.” He’s looking out toward the water. “No expectations, no conversation about what happened between us. Just two friends getting dinner.”
“Friends?” The word pierced your chest, butterflies exploding in your stomach.
He nods, the full weight of that easy, gentle smile turned on you. “Of course, we’re friends Sweet. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought you cinnamon rolls.”
The second use of the nickname within the span of forty-five minutes only made the butterflies worse. “Dinner sounds good.”
“Are you stationed out here?”
He shakes his head, “I have orders for Lemoore, I’m Phoenix’s new back seater, and in the middle of getting those orders I got called up to Top Gun.” He sips at his coffee. “It’s a pretty intense opportunity if I’m selected.”
“Is there any doubt?”
He smiles again, “The others are extremely talented. It’s nice to be flying with people who challenge each other.” His arm is resting on the back of the swing, and you find yourself leaning closer. The empty plate joins the box of cinnamon rolls. “Cold?” He asks, and it’s not so much a question as it is an invitation. Heart in your throat, you close those last few inches, curling next to him, head dropping onto the crook of his arm. He adjusts the blanket, his arm dropping lightly onto your shoulder, fingers brushing your upper arm.
“One of my friends, she owns a studio space,” you start talking to fill the silence. It’s too comfortable, and you can feel the oppressive weight of what you really want to say bubbling up. “She wants to host a showing for me.” You had taken up photography in high school, the hobby evolving into something more, finding you had a knack for being in the right place at the right time, and having an eye for composition. When the shift to digital happened, your pieces gained attention and your hobby turned into a full-blown business.
“That’s incredible,” he says. “You should do it.”
“I’m thinking about staying out here for a while though. The city, it’s a lot. I miss being able to breathe. Auntie’s got her hands full, and Jarrod’s in the wind again.”
“It’s that bad that you come to California to breathe?”
“If I went home, momma would get her claws in me, and I’d never see anything but small town for the rest of my life.”
“Exactly why I signed up.”
“Yeah, but you go home, and you’re the fighter pilot,” you hold up a finger to pause his protest, “most of them can’t tell the difference between a WSO and a pilot, all they know is the small-town boy has his butt in a jet. I go home, and I’m the weird arty kid sister of the football star who didn’t quite make it.”
“I see your point.” There’s the slightest brush of his lips against your temple. “I need to get back to the barracks. I don’t have to report, but I have to check in.”
“Can’t have you AWOL.”
“They wouldn’t declare that, they’d send the others after me.” He pauses, another easy, genuine grin spreading across his face. “Which would be worse if I’m being honest.” Gently he untangles himself, making sure to tuck the blanket it around you. Robert places the laptop in the empty space. “Answer your emails, so you’re not distracted tonight.” His hand squeezes your shoulder, “I’ll come pick you up at six.”
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The contents of your closet are spread out on your bed, and you’re sitting on the floor starting at the colorful pile of fabric defeated. “Friends.” You mutter, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Just two friends getting dinner.” Your phone chirps from under the pile and you shove everything out of the way.
“The others just left; I’ll be there in a few.”
“Crap,” You mutter getting to your feet. Grabbing blindly, you put on a dress and slip on a pair of sandals, and clatter down the stairs. Your Aunt is in her rocking chair fast asleep. Carefully, you tuck a blanket around her, leaving a note to remind her of your evening plans. The dogs were fed and settled, leaving your aunt a dinner plate in the fridge, jumping when there’s a soft knock on the door.
You open the door to see Robert on the porch. “Wow.” He breathes, looking you up and down. “You look amazing.” He rubs the back of his neck before offering you his hand. “You ready?” He’s got on dark blue dress pants and a white button up, the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Wow yourself, Robbie.” You let him lead you down the stairs and to the car, getting in while he holds the door.
He slides into the driver’s seat and puts the car in gear. He drives like he was born behind the wheel, easy and relaxed. One hand rested on the console between you, fingers flexing occasionally. Hesitantly, you rest your hand on top of his. He moves under you, lacing your fingers together, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. The town melts away as he navigates the winding California highway running parallel to the ocean. He takes an exit, taking you through a small town. He pulls up to a small brick building with red and white striped awnings.
“Seresin can’t stop talking about this place and their cannoli.” Robert says. “Considering he doesn’t shut up, the fact that this place comes up pretty often means it has to be good.” He turns the ignition off, giving you another half-smile.
The walkway is cobblestone, lined with overflowing flower beds. Roses, lavender, bright white daisies, hollyhocks and other flowers, he’s got a hold of your hand, opening the door for you. Inside you’re instantly greeted by the smell of garlic and fresh bread. Italian music plays, and it’s dimly lit, candles on every table. His smile is easy and gentle, and you find yourself drawn in by conversation and good food.
You’re not sure how long the two of you sit at the table that’s tucked into a quiet corner. He’s telling you stories about the other pilots up for this mission, you’re laughing so hard you’re crying at some of the antics that they get up to. The waiter comes by, apologetically cutting in, and letting you know that the restaurant would be closing.
“Three cannoli and the bill please,” Robert says.
“Are you going to let me pay half?”
He shakes his head, “Let me. Please.”
“Fine, then I’ll get the next one.”
He leans across the table, a wicked glint in his eyes, “Next time then.” The waiter drops by with a small box, Robert paying the bill and leading you back to the car.
The drive home seems to pass so much quicker, and with it the knowledge that the evening was ending. He pulls up to the house, sitting with you in the car for a little while, the engine off. In the pale illumination of the streetlight, his features are angular, though there’s a softness in his jaw. You’re acutely aware of his breathing, your own, the heat radiating from him, the clean fresh scent of his cologne overwhelming you. His tongue darts out against his lower lip and you shift slightly in your seat. Every part of you is screaming for you to take his hand, lead him upstairs and give in to the burning heat that’s slowly spiraling through you.
“I should go in.” You whisper, throat dry. “Thank you, I had a good time.” Your hand rests on the door handle.
He nods, getting out of the car and coming around to your side, following you up the walk to the front door. Robert leans against the doorframe, braced over you as you fumble with your keys and the lock. He says your name, and you turn, his other hand curving along your jaw.
“Please,” your lips brush against his when you speak.
He groans, and the sound makes your toes curl. His kiss is slow, drawing you closer, tongue sliding past your lips. Your arms wrap around him, your key dropping forgotten, to the porch, pulling him flush against you. Your back hits the door, his other hand sliding to the small of your back. The door gives way under your combined weight, and you tumble through it, landing solidly on the floor, Robbie on top of you. He has enough sense to cushion your head with his hand before it hits the floor, but the commotion of you entering the house sets the dogs off. Two of them bark from the living room, while the third sees freedom and takes it, running out the door.
“Robbie, get him!”
He's scrambling off you, dashing after the dog. You pull yourself up, grabbing the leash, making sure to close the door behind you before you’re giving chase as well; the dog heading straight for the beach and surf. By the time you both manage to get a hold of the runaway, you’re covered in sand, soaking wet from the waves, and you’re halfway convinced that there’s seaweed stuck to your leg. Bob’s rumpled and breathless, shirt untucked his socks hanging out of his pockets, shoes abandoned somewhere on the beach, but his hand on is on the dog’s collar. You clip the leash to the dog’s collar, who promptly sits and looks up at you, tail thumping against the sand. Robert laughs, hands carding through his hair as he pushes it away from his face. His arm settles over your shoulders, pulling you against him as he walks you home.
“Are you doing anything Friday?” He asks, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you wrestle the dog back inside. You shake your head, and he continues. “I think there’s a few of us that are getting drinks, would you like to join us?”
“I’d like that.”
“Go on inside, I’ll text you tomorrow with the plans.” He waits until the door closes behind you.
You phone pings when you’re headed up the stairs to your bedroom.
“Goodnight, Sweet.”