“I know you’re scared that telling Mary how you feel might mess things up,” Lenore said. “I was terrified when Sisco started showing interest in me. I had a daughter finishing cancer treatment, an ex-husband who was a complete disaster, and a life that was barely holding together. I couldn’t imagine why someone like Sisco would want to be with me, take on all my baggage, deal with all my complications.”
“Lenore—”
“Let me finish.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “I was so afraid that I almost pushed him away before we even had a chance. Because fear can be convincing. It tells you all the reasons something won’t work, all the ways you might get hurt, all the logical arguments for protecting yourself.”
He nodded slowly, understanding exactly what she meant.
“But fear can only keep you lonely,” she continued. “It can’t give you happiness or connection or love. Those things require risk. They require being vulnerable even when it’s terrifying.”
Bert’s voice was rough. “What if I tell her and it ruins everything?”
“Then at least you’ll know. And you can move forward.” Lenore’s expression was earnest, willing him to understand. “But Bert? I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I’ve heard the way she talks about you and seen the way her whole face lights up when you walk into a room. She cares about you.”
Bert stood there in the fading light, looking at this strong woman who’d survived so much and come out the other side with her heart intact enough to risk it again. She was right. All these people cared about him and wanted to see him happy.
Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded. “When she comes back,” he said finally, the words feeling like both a promise and a threat. “When she comes back, I’ll be honest about how I feel and let her decide what she wants to do with that information.”
Lenore’s smile was bright and relieved. “Good. That’s all we’re asking. Just be honest with her.”
She squeezed his arm, then headed back toward the other women, who were watching from a distance with poorly concealed interest. Bert climbed into his SUV and sat there for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his mind racing.
The drive home felt longer than usual, every mile weighted with the conversation and its implications. By the time he pulled into his driveway, his house was dark and quiet across from Mary’s equally dark house.
He let himself into his place, dropped his keys on the counter, and stared at Mary’s house through the window. He had a key to her place, given to him weeks ago with instructions to water her plants while she was gone and make sure everything stayed secure.
Bert found himself walking across the street before he’d consciously decided to do it. He unlocked Mary’s front door and stepped inside, hit immediately by that subtle scent he’d noticed in her office.
He wasn’t being creepy or pervy, he told himself firmly. He was checking on the house like she’d asked him to. Making sure nothing was leaking, the plants were watered, and everything was secure.
But as he moved through her space, Bert couldn’t help but absorb the details that were purely Mary. The books stacked on her coffee table: a mix of mysteries, historical fiction, and technical manuals. The throw blanket draped over her couch, soft and warm, the one she wrapped around herself during movie nights. The photos on her mantel of her family, the team, one of her and Bert from the LSIMT Christmas party, where they were both laughing at something Devlin had said.
In her bedroom, Bert watered the plants on her windowsill and found himself pausing by her nightstand. Another book waited there, the bookmark tucked partway through. A photo of her parents. And another framed photo of the two of them. They were both in silhouette, staring in the distance toward the mountains near sunset. He stood close to her and had his hand on her shoulder. And what surprised him was that her head was tilted to the side, resting on his arm. He didn’t remember seeing that snapshot before, but she had it framed and on her nightstand, where she could see it when she went to bed and when she woke up first thing every morning. And his heart leaped, pounding in his chest.
This was her life. Her space. Bert wanted to be part of it in every way possible. He wanted to be the person she came home to, the one she shared her days with, the one who got to see all the private, unguarded moments that happened in the quiet of her home.
He wanted everything with her, and the realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.
He finished checking the house, locked up carefully, and returned to his own place. It was only seven thirty, but he felt exhausted. He heated leftover pizza, and as he ate while standing at his kitchen counter, staring out at her dark house, he tried not to calculate how many more days it was until she came home.
His phone buzzed with a message from her. Day 3 complete. Fishing villages were charming. Had the best lobster roll of my life. How was your day?
He called, not willing to wait another moment to hear her voice. “Hey, Mary. I’m glad you had a good day. Is everything going okay?”
“Yes!” she said with enthusiasm. “I’ve never wanted to take an ocean cruise, but the river one is so calm. We can see the land on both sides, and the boat doesn’t rock very much.”
“How’s the food? Are you eating enough?”
Her laughter rang through him, settling deep inside. “It’s amazing! No big crowds are rushing for buffets! And I’m meeting lots of people, something you know isn’t easy for me.”
“I’m glad.” He wasn’t lying… He did want her to have a good time and to have the opportunity to talk to new people.
“I want to hear about you,” she insisted. “How was your day?”
“Long. Distributed equipment for three different missions. Counted ammunition. The usual excitement.”
“Are you okay? You sound tired.”
His answer stuck in his throat. He was tired because he missed her. His day felt empty without seeing her. Every conversation with teammates had circled back to her and how much he clearly cared about her. The women had cornered him and basically told him to get his act together and confess his feelings.