The older woman in a soccer-mom shirt next to Sydney leaned closer. "Or when she sells out her roll of tickets."
"Fair enough.'' Blatantly canvassing or not, the woman had offered him a three-hour reprieve.
Blake emptied his wallet of two hundred dollars and thanked the sweet Lord in heaven for credit cards or this would be a bust date from the get-go.
Sydney shoved his money back to him. "This is incredibly generous, but I would feel bad. We can just meet at four."
"What kind of fund-raiser for the—" he glanced down at the plastic drape over the front of her table and read "—National Wildlife Fund are you, lady?"
He turned to his soccer-mom ally and passed his money, garnering himself a roll of tickets that he promptly gave to a young mother standing behind him in line with two children.
Sydney laughed away a few more of his cobwebs. "You're good."
He sure hoped so. "Where do you want to go for lunch?"
She shoved to her feet. Hoo-ya. And snagged up her purse. "How about I treat you to lunch and we can both watch the air show together since you just gave away two hundred dollars' worth of chances to win a new truck?"
A truck? Ouch. But well worth it for a chance with Sydney. "Sounds great.''
Filing in beside her, he knew they wouldn't go home together tonight, but would one day soon once they knew each other better. Something he intended to accelerate as fast as he could.
"Texas?" he asked her as they neared the hot dog vendor's cart.
"Pardon me?"
"Is that Texas I hear in your accent?"
"Red Branch, born and bred.''
"I'm from a small Midwest town too, a little more north. Missouri.''
"Are you vacationing here, then?"
"No. I live here, and I sure as hell hope you do, too."
Again she laughed, filling his brain with a sound he would never forget. "I do. My job's here. And what is it that you do?"
An elbow caught Blake in the belly from his swim buddy. Carlos flashed him a thumbs-up with a questioning look. You ready?
Wordless communication came easily after so many missions together.
Nodding, answers stuck under cobwebs in his throat, Blake shook off the past and stood, the boulder like weight of his gear not nearly as heavy as the weight in his chest. He disconnected from the plane's oxygen and opened his own.
What did he do? she'd asked. He was a Navy SEAL. Always. To the core. Something he should have made clear to Sydney from the start. But mentioning the full extent of his occupation to strangers wasn't safe. He'd simply told her that he was in the Navy and changed the subject while gathering up their food and popping a French fry into her mouth.
Not that he'd wanted to talk about it then, anyway, his brain still cobwebbed full of the intense months in Afghanistan.
Blake filed in with the rest of the SEALs, straddle-walk waddling under the weight of their gear. The load ramp lowered, gaped to reveal inky night sky. Four abreast in rows, they stopped at the top of the ramp. Dark sky, roaring wind and turbulence waited to swallow him.
He was a SEAL. Something he still believed in, cobwebs and all, even if somewhere along the line he'd forgotten how to believe in white picket fences.
Jack piloted his empty plane back to base, SEALs offloaded. That much closer to finished. A good thing, but also a reminder time was running out with Monica. He was making progress in getting to her by being patient, keeping some distance.
But would it be enough?
He clenched the stick, easing it forward to descend as they put miles between themselves and the parachuting SEALs. That left another half hour to relax with clear flying into the night sky before strapping on NVGs for the no-lights landing.
Rodeo flipped through pages in his flight data log before finding the correct one and pulling his clipped pen free of the ring. "You okay, man?''