“Pick up 05:00,” I said.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me.
We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.
Eventually, I leaned down to kiss her hair.
“Let’s go get some food,” I said quietly.
She nodded without speaking.
We stepped out into the gray evening light, and Caro shivered. It might have been from the cooler mountain air, or because she could sense what was coming. She gripped onto my hand as if she’d never let go. We both knew that she would—and soon.
I took her to a small, family-run bistro that I’d used ever since arriving in Geneva. I didn’t have anything more than a kettle in my room, not that I knew Jack shit about cooking anyway: I could burn some eggs and unwrap a MRE. That was about it.
Caro looked surprised when the owner nodded at me familiarly.
“I come here most days,” I admitted, although I’d never brought anyone with me before.
“Hmm, seems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian,” Caro said with deliberate lightness. “When you come home—to Long Beach—we’ll have to have some fun with food.”
Home. The word pulled at my gut again. But she wanted lightness—I could give her that.
“Yeah, that would be great!” I grinned at her. “Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing—and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”
“Don’t use language like that with me, Sebastian,” she scolded, almost serious. “Chocolate is not something I joke about.”
“Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”
“Crunchy,” I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively.
She smiled and agreed that crunchy would be good.
Caro ordered a risotto and I ordered the ravioli, but neither of us felt like staying long. We ate without tasting, and then we were out of there. I left a larger than usual tip. I didn’t do goodbyes, so it was my way of saying I wouldn’t be around.
When we got back to the apartment, Caro was shivering.
“Cold, baby?”
“A little. Can we turn the heat on?”
I smiled at her. “No heating.”
She stared at me in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”
I shook my head, amused. “Don’t worry, Caro—I’ll warm you up.”
I’d chosen the room for the view and because it was in a part of town that was away from other Americans stationed here. Nothing against them, but I preferred to be by myself.
Caro disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared dressed in one of my old khaki workout shirts. She threw herself into the bed, shivering under the covers. Jeez, it wasn’t that cold.
To make my point, I wandered around naked, although I usually wore green skivvies in case Madame Dubois walked in, which she had, soon after I moved here. I thought she’d made a mistake, but when it happened a second and then a third time, I decided the old lady had her eyeballs on my junk too often. But for Caro, I’d make an exception, although I kept the tighty whiteys for under Deltas—the khaki slacks. Man, I hated those.
I washed up and finished brushing my teeth, before I slid into the narrow bed next to Caro.
“You know, Sebastian,” she said, “while I really enjoyed the floor show, you’ll have to wear more clothes at home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said, as if talking to a five-year-old, “I live in a bungalow—and I have elderly neighbors. We have elderly neighbors, and I don’t want you giving them a heart attack.”
“Okay, boss,” I smirked.
I pulled her against my body and kissed her slowly and deeply, trying to show her without words how much she meant to me, how much she’d always meant to me.
My body reacted to her instantly, but I took my time, pushing away the night, pushing away the moment when we’d be apart again, touching, always touching, tasting and feeling. Her hands traced the muscles of my back, and her tongue tracked across of every ridge of my chest and stomach, dipping down to take me in her mouth, until I had to beg her to stop. Then I made sure I took to her the edge and back before she exploded against my mouth, her breath harsh in her throat. And only then I allowed myself to slide inside her, filling her inch by inch, circling my hips, so I could feel her tightening around me. I rolled onto my back, pulling her with me, and I laid my hands across her flat stomach as she arched up over me.
Then she covered my hands with her own.
“Can you feel yourself inside me?” she whispered, her voice husky.
She’d said those exact same words to me the very first time we’d made love after I’d been bruised and beaten by my father. And she’d taken care of me; she’d taken me into her arms, into her bed, and into her body. She healed my body, mended my cuts and bruises, but more than that … she healed my soul. I’d never stopped loving her.
“Yes,” I said, staring up at her, “I can.”
We loved each other all night, but it couldn’t stop the clock from ticking.
I’d set the alarm, even though neither of us had slept. I’d sleep on the transport out of Ramstein; I wasn’t going to waste a second of being with Caro.
We showered together, speaking with our hands and our bodies. And then she watched as I dressed in my desert cammies. Her face remained calm, but her eyes had already told me what she was really thinking.
She held out one hand toward me, and in her palm rested a small pebble of white quartz, shaped by the ocean into a tiny heart.
“Tesoro, go with my love, but take this with you. It’s just silly, but I always carry it with me when I leave home—I found this the first time I went to Long Beach. But now I have your ring to wear.”
I closed my eyes and leaned down to kiss her hair.
“I’ve never had something to come back to before, Caro. Don’t worry about me—just take care of yourself.”
I kissed the piece of quartz and tucked it into my pocket.
“I love you, tesoro. Stay safe for me.”
A car horn sounded in the street below us.
“Time to go, baby. Love you.”
I kissed her once more, tasting her for the last time in God knows how long. Then I scooped up my sea-bag and ran down the stairs. The car was one of the featureless black sedans that Military Intelligence used around the city.
The driver saluted.
“Your orders, sir.”
He handed me a packet of papers, then popped the trunk, stowing my bags inside.
I glanced up at the window, and smiled when I saw Caro looking down at me, then the door closed and I was heading for the airport.
The flight was a charter and once I was through security, I was directed to a small room with other US military personnel scheduled on the same flight.
I scanned the faces—no one I recognized. I wasn’t expecting to, but you never know.
I checked my orders, but there was nothing different since I’d talked to Cardozo last night. I had forty minutes before my flight, so I shoved my bags under my seat, and stretched out to take a nap.
As soon as my eyes closed, I could see Caro’s face. I imagined her lying in my bed, her hair spilled out across the pillow and … oh fuck, not a good idea thinking about her if it was going to make me hard. Not here and definitely not now. Instead, I tried to reprogram my brain to think about the mission. It wasn’t working: every time I closed my eyes, Caro’s face swam into view.
I nixed the idea of sleeping and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I had a copy of Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’. I’d read it before, but now I had a new insight into its message: ‘Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.’ I wasn’t sure I agreed, especially now. But as a book, it was still the shit.