When Seth screwed up a table leg for the third time, Alan told him to take a break. “Otherwise I’m going to run out of wood,” he said dryly.
Seth swore under his breath. He was too distracted to get any real work done; the usual peace he got from woodworking wasn’t happening today.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Rose’s face when he’d told her he might say yes to a fourth tour. She’d been stricken, yet she hadn’t told him to say no, either. But what else can I do? he thought rather desperately.
His mind whispered that he was just too scared to admit how much he cared for Rose—that he couldn’t tell her that he loved her. Because the people he loved died, didn’t they?
“You going to tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to torture it out of you?” Alan joked. He handed Seth a mug o
