Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 15

He glanced at Sophie, who shrugged her shoulders.

Mary twirled a strand of hair. "There's freshly baked muffins." Max cut the engine, and she smirked. "Knew food would work."

Out of the vehicle, Max reluctantly shook Simon's offered hand. The resemblance between Finn and his older brother was striking. Not as tall, and broader, Simon shared the same honest face and muddy brown hair. Max felt decidedly shabby next to Simon in his expensive jacket and boots. Simon's grip was firm, and he appeared cordial, but his smile didn't reach his blue eyes. "Want a tour of the place?"

"You two go on ahead." Mary looped her arm around Max's, and he tried not to bristle at her overly friendly touch. If she noticed his discomfort, she ignored it. "I'm a bit tired."

The genial mask Simon sported vanished, replaced with concern. He started toward his wife. "Let's get you in the house."

"I'll be fine. Max will escort me." She tugged at his arm, and he had no choice but to step closer.

Simon's lips pressed into a thin line. His wife leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Have fun showing off your new toy. We'll be in the café."

Like Max might not be good enough to walk his wife the few steps to the farmhouse, her husband's gaze stung Max like an errant pitch, hard and judging, "We won't be long."

"Take your time." Mary tugged at Max, urging him to move.

Max glanced at Sophie, who offered him an encouraging grin. The stone in his gut shifted at the sight. Mary was her friend, and he'd respect that. He could last a few minutes alone with Mary, even though he couldn't imagine spending time with anyone he had less in common with.

Inside the farmhouse, gleaming hardwood floors and a small reception desk greeted him. "In here." Mary guided him to the left, through a set of French doors, into a room lit by the natural light shining through giant bay windows and littered with linen-covered tables set to accommodate two or four people. She pushed past the small bar at the back of the room, through another door and into what looked like it might once have been the kitchen for the farmhouse, complete with rows of cupboards.

In the center stood a cream-tile covered island sporting a cardboard box, the lid open, allowing the aroma of freshly baked goodness to fill the air.

Mary dropped his arm. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black." Even though he'd enjoyed java of all flavours and varieties from around the world, and preferred a splash of cream, in the military, he'd learned to appreciate the basics.

"Help yourself to a muffin." She jammed a mug under a giant carafe. "Just don't touch the cranberry white chocolate. That's Simon's."

Starving, Max plucked out the closest and ripped off the top and bit into an explosion of lemon. The mixture of tart and sweet delicious enough to almost rival the crème Brule Sophie had served for dessert along with the pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. Mary placed a glass mug full of dark liquid and an empty plate in front of him, circled a finger over the muffins, selected one covered in brown sugar, and placed it on her plate. "Have you fixed Finn yet?"

Max stared at her.

"Right." She dragged a stool over to the countertop. "Gonna take more than a day, huh?"

Not comfortable talking to the cause of so much pain to Finn, especially since Max knew what was probably getting under Finn's skin was the guilt at Bug's death, he shifted in his seat. Even though it was Max's fault, she'd been in the chopper that morning. Another choice for Max to regret.

"But you will fix him, right?" Mary's stare made Max feel like he was sitting on hot pokers.

He shrugged. He couldn't tell if she was scolding him like his coach after a loss, or this was her way of expressing concern. "Emily has too much faith in me."