Silver candelabras spiraled in the middle of every table. Red roses rested above each place setting.
Julia twirled a rose between two fingers and resolved to enjoy the Valentine's holiday.
Worries from home would intrude soon enough. Surrounded by friends, she wanted to pretend that this moment could last.
From across the room, Bronco cupped his hands to his mouth. "Wolf! Wolf!"
The shout spread. "Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!"
In one of the quirky rules of the Dining-Out, no one was allowed to applaud. Spoons banged the table in a rattling din of approval like a medieval banquet of clanging utensils.
Vaulting on to the dais, Zach commanded attention for more reasons than his height and the impressive rows of medals across his chest. He carried that indefinable something within him that inspired the unwavering loyalty echoing from the room full of men and woman he led.
The calls of "Wolf" boomed. Fists pounded the tables along with the clanking silverware, all a part of the formal military Dining-Out custom that traced its roots to antiquity.
Roman legions, Viking warlords, King Arthur's knights—for centuries, warriors thrived on gatherings to celebrate their victories and achievements.
Although Viking warlords had probably done so with a few less lace-paper doilies.
More than just friendship radiated from these people. Julia recognized a deeper sense of belonging that she hadn't witnessed since her childhood.
Zach swiped the microphone from its stand. "Thanks everyone. Thank you." He let loose a piercing whistle into the mike, silencing the shouts. "Thank you. I appreciate all of you coming to our little Valentine's soiree tonight. Just want to say how great it is to have the whole squadron together stateside for a change."
A cheer roared through the room.
Zach absently patted a rhythm on his pants leg until the clamor waned. "It's my duty now to call an end to the official part of this Dining-Out."
Groans rippled like a wave from table to table. Fliers partied almost as hard as they fought.
"Hey, now," Zach groused with a grin. "Some of us have to pay off baby-sitters. But for those of you who want to hang around, I've already written a check for the band to stay on until two."
The shouts doubled. "Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!"
Zach's smile never wavered while he waited them out, his rhythmic tapping resuming.
Julia's fingers slowed along the rose. How many times had he done that throughout the evening? She looked closer. The brace of his shoulders wasn't nearly as relaxed as his smile implied.
She listened more closely to his words as he rallied his squadron. When had she become so in-tune to his inflections that she could detect even a hint of tightness to his tones?
"That said, nobody do anything stupid tonight," Zach continued. "If you've been sent to the grog bowl for protocol infractions a few too many times and don't have a designated driver lined up, check with Bronco over there. He's volunteered his chauffeuring services since he's not getting much sleep anyway with a newborn in the house."
Laughter rumbled through the room, Zach joining in. Julia wasn't fooled anymore. For a man who displayed so little of his emotions, those small gestures bellowed louder than the squadron shouts. He was distracted, agitated even.
Her mind raced to the obvious. Pam's return.
Jealousy pinched Julia. Hard.
Zach raised his hand, shooting a thumbs-up to the crowd. "I declare this Dining-Out officially concluded. Carry on."
Then he shifted his attention to her. Fully. A tingle rippled through Julia like a near-miss with an electrical socket.
His eyes never leaving her, he marched down the steps toward the head table with long determined strides, his fingers still drumming along his thigh. Seeing Pam again wouldn't have this much power over him unless he still harbored unresolved feelings.
Close on the heels of jealousy followed a wash of loss. How damned tragic that just when she'd moved past losing Lance she realized Zach might not be over Pam.
Julia's hopes for the evening faded. He'd been strong for her a month ago. He'd given her time to come to terms with Lance's death and helped her heal. How could she do any less for him?
Chandeliers glowed, glinting off Zach's coal-black hair and casting shadows along the bold angles of his face. God, he was beyond handsome. With a sigh of regret, she bid farewell to her late-night plans for peeling that uniform off every muscled inch of his body.