Waiting on the Rain by Claudia Connor
3
Luke’s voice wasdeeply male and Ava felt the warmth of him, felt the slight shift in the table and heard the faint slide of fabric against fabric as if he was leaning his arm on it. Even sitting, his voice came from slightly above her head. “Never mind,” she said, kicking herself and reaching for her glass of water. She’d left at exactly twelve o’clock when she was facing the table. “You don’t have to fight anyone.”
“Are you kidding? After all the time we spent making the perfect plate?”
She smiled, pretty sure by the sound of his voice that he was looking right at her. She’d thrown out the blind bomb and he’d handled it. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t even fumbled. Unless he was just very good at covering. Some people were. “Well, you’re in luck. I didn’t come with anyone. Hannah invited me. I think she feels sorry for me.”
“That’s—”
“No, not because I’m blind,” she said quickly. “Just because she feared for my sanity. I’m only in town helping out after my dad’s knee replacement.”
“That’s tough. How’s it going?”
“It’s going. But, like you said, it’s tough.”
“Mmm.” He took one of the long rolled up things. “How do you know Hannah?”
“I’ve been riding at Freedom Farm for a couple of weeks now. A gift from my sister-in-law.”
“Huh. How do you like it?”
“I like it a lot.” Ava picked up her fork and ran it over the plate of cookies, feeling them through the utensil. “Where should I start?” She tapped the tips of her fork over the plate. “What’s this one?”
“That’s the powdered sugar ball. A butter ball, I think they’re called.”
“Mmm. What do you think? Should I go for it? I don’t usually just pop unknown foods into my mouth. My brother says I eat like a squirrel. Or a rat.”
“That’s brothers for you. Here. A fork’s not going to work.” He took the utensil from her.
“Just so you know,” she said, “If I was alone, I’d be fondling the hell out of these cookies.”
The word fondlinghad certain images coming to Luke’s mind as he guided her soft, cool hand to the cookie she wanted. “There.” He watched her lift the ball to her mouth, felt his pulse jump as her lips parted then closed around it.
“Mmm. I love these,” she mumbled around the mouthful. Then laughed, spraying out a puff of powdered sugar before she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m tho thorry!”
“Not a problem.” He bit back a chuckle and popped the same cookie into his own mouth, unable to stop looking at her.
“Okay. That was amazing,” she said. “Maybe worth getting burned for.” She reached for another one and stopped. “Sorry. I don’t want to touch your cookies.”
“Our cookies. And go ahead. I’ve been in the army. We eat with our hands all the time. And trust me, you’ll be the cleanest person that’s ever ah… touched my cookies.”
She laughed clear and bright and held her hand out. “Hit me with another one.”
Had he ever been so entertained eating cookies with a woman? Not just entertained, but captivated. “Can you see it at all? Shit,” he said the second the words were out. He just wanted to know about her, but… “Sorry. That was definitely not PC, and I…” He shook his head at himself.
“It’s fine. And fair, since I’m touching your…cookies. And the answer is, no. I’m one of the few blind people that have no sight at all.”
He stared at her, drinking his fill. “You’d never know it.”
“I know. It’s a nerve thing, a disconnect is the easiest way to explain it, between the optical nerve and my brain. My eyes— the muscles, the corneas and all are actually normal.”
She angled her face down to her plate. Strands of silky, blond hair fell around her face, blocking his view. He was still kicking himself for even asking, but her eyes were so far from normal. Beautiful didn’t cut it either. They were extraordinary. The purest, brightest blue. Uniform in color. No speckles of another color, no variation.
She looked at the plate of cookies, or seemed to, and they sat a few minutes without talking. Chewing on cookies, listening to the band, sudden movements of people around him catching his eye, but not really paying attention.
He’d rather look at her. What could it be like? To see nothing? Just darkness? Even crawling through the darkest of nights he had night vision goggles. And maybe it wasn’t darkness that she saw. “Where’d you come from?”
“New York.”
“Ooh.”
“What? You don’t like the city?”
“By city you mean millions of people? Streets that smell like sewers? Horns blasting?”
“Wow. I’m going to take that as a no. Are you the brother that just got out of the military? Hannah might have mentioned her brother situation,” she added with a smile, when he didn’t immediately answer. “FBI. Army Ranger. Firefighter. Cop. Poor girl.” She smiled again. “I imagine the military’s loud.”
“It is. Different though because I’m the one making the noise.” He held his breath, hoping she didn’t ask for details the way some people did.
“Well, city life’s not for everyone. Hannah mentioned you’re building the cabins for her camp. That’s nice.”
She smiled, her eyes not meeting his exactly, but close enough and whatever tension he’d felt eased.
“How about one of those mini cannoli things,” she said, aiming her fork at the edge of her plate.
He gave her one, took one for himself. He was about to ask her how city life worked not being able to see anything when his sister caught his attention from the edge of the dance floor. With both of her hands locked tightly in Stephen’s, Hannah pointedly dipped her head at Luke, then jerked it toward Ava. Luke pretended he didn’t understand this weird sign language she was giving him. Luckily, Stephen spun her around before she got a crick in her neck.
The music slowed and the opening chords of a well-known song played. “The band’s good,” she said, reaching out carefully for her glass of ice water.
“Yeah. They are.”
She took a sip, then carefully, put it back in its place.
He looked past Ava’s shoulder and Hannah was back again, this time pointing animatedly at him, then at Ava, then the dance floor. Yeah, yeah. He got the message. And okay fine, he could manage one dance. He’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. “Let’s dance.”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Aww, come on. If you step on my feet, I won’t even notice.”
“Well, thanks for that, but—”
“But what? I’m the black sheep of the family,” he said. “If anyone’s looking, they’ll be looking at me.” He slid his chair back from the table and stood.
“Why are you the black sheep?”
“A story for another day. Come on.” He touched her arm lightly to guide her up beside him. “If we sit here debating it’ll be over and then you’ll be crying on your cookies.”
“Excuse me? I will not be crying if I don’t get to dance with you, but fine.” She scooted back and stood. “You’ll have to help me navigate,” she said, adjusting her hand.
“No problem. Truth is, I’m not much of a dancer so I’ll get us through the maze and you can take it from there?”
“Deal.”