*********
1547 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
"Morning, Flyboy," I greet brightly. I'm determined not to have a repeat of yesterday.
He leans back in his chair and smiles, but it fades into suspicious amusement when he sees the plate I'm carrying.
"What have you got there?"
"A little treat for you," I reply cheerily, beaming what I hope is a smile to light up his senses.
The amusement is gone and now the suspiciousness is first and foremost in his demeanor. He regards the plate, covered by tinfoil, warily.
"Go ahead, take a look."
"You take a look. I've learned to beware of that which hides under tinfoil." He leans back and stares at me defiantly.
Arghh. All right. Fine. I whip the foil off and stand back proudly.
"Ta-da!"
He leans forward again and inspects the plate of cookies before him.
"What are they?"
"Cookies!" I exclaim, exasperated. Good grief, Mr. Tofu has to have had at least ONE cookie in his 38 years of existence.
"Wh-what kind of cookies?"
"Oatmeal raisin," I reply modestly.
"You…baked? For me?" Okay, I do not like the sound of that falling from his lips. "I didn't even know you knew how to bake," he murmurs still staring at the cookies.
All right, flyboy, you're starting to annoy me.
"Of course I can bake!" I snap. "I just…don't. Not enough time." He pokes at one with his finger then looks up.
"Have *you* tried one?"
"Er, eh, no. I prefer chocolate chip." He stares at me incredulously. He doesn't need to know that this is the first time I've ever baked oatmeal raisin cookies, nor does he need to know about the cloud of doubt that hung over me as I prepared them. Anyway, they look like oatmeal cookies. I'm sure they taste like them.
"Go on, taste one," I encourage.
He gives me a pleading look.
"Taste…one…" I repeat through clenched teeth.
He gives me another look, this one full of despondency, and obediently picks one up. He takes a bite of a couple crumbs and looks up at me.
"Mmm…good."
"Harm," I say, then stop. "Nevermind. Just give me the cookies." I snatch the tinfoil off the desk and reach for the plate. To my surprise he pulls it out of my reach.
He takes a real bite of the cookie, managing to cram about half of it in his mouth. He chews for a moment. He doesn't look like he's going to gag anytime soon. In fact, he looks rather surprised that he *isn't* going to gag anytime soon.
"Mmmm…actually these are sorta good." He says between chews.
"Really?" Okay, so I'm surprised that he isn't going to gag anytime soon, too.
He offers me the plate. "Wanna bite?"
Hmm…definitely. I must experience my own handiwork now that it's clear Harm won't die from it. "Just a small bite."
He holds out the other half of his cookie, the one he took a bite from.
"Thanks."
I take it and cram it into my mouth, trying to shush the voice in my head I haven't heard since high school that says a variation of "now your lips are touching mine." I really can't be that pathetic.
"Mmm…" These really are good. Damn MacKenzie. You should really take up baking.
Harm grabs another one off the plate before he takes the tinfoil from my hand and places it over the cookies. He sets the plate on top of his inbox.
"Thanks, Mac." He flashes a very nice wide smile that makes my stomach flutter. "Still, I don't know if that'll be enough to persuade me."
He winks. He actually winks at me. I'm not sure whether I'm flattered or infuriated when I realize his insinuations.
"Oh. And what *would* persuade you?"
"Well…"
"Hey Harm," Sturgis busts in.
ARRRGGHHH.
"So, ready for this weekend?"
I look at Harm questioningly. For a split second, Harm looks almost as annoyed as I feel upon Sturgis's interruption, but the look is gone, replaced by the smirk he's been wearing since we found out about his super luck with the Superbowl.
"You bet, buddy."
"What time do you want to check out of here?"
Harm considers. He knows I'm watching him, too, so he puts on a good show of a furrowed brow and a thoughtful expression. I know the looks. I see them in court all the time. Why he thinks he can fool me…
"Probably about 1530 or 1600 if we can manage it. I want to try to beat rush hour traffic."
"Agreed."
"Going somewhere?" I ask, not even trying to be subtle.
"Yeah, Harm and I have a mutual friend from the academy—Jack Keeter—and we're all going to go skiing in Vermont," Sturgis answers.
Skiing? Harm? In Vermont?
"Hmm, well tell Commander Keeter he better stay out of trouble because I'm not coming to bail his ass out again. Once was enough."
I fix a stern glance at Harm. "I'm not bailing yours out either."
"Yes, ma'am," Harm gives me a mock salute. He looks pleased that I don't seem to recall Commander Keeter with fond memories. Actually he wasn't that bad. A little arrogant, but that's nothing that I haven't experienced with Harm before. Or any other jet jock. We exchanged some interesting stories about Harm.
One comes to mind, and I can't resist adding,
"Try to avoid the shrubbery…particularly around pretty girls." Actually, you can hit the shrubbery, just avoid the pretty girls.
Sturgis bursts out laughing and Harm squirms in his chair.
"Ooh, are those oatmeal raisin cookies?"
"Yeah. Mac made them," he informs Sturgis.
"Really?" Sturgis looks at me with interest. Harm offers one to Sturgis. He takes a bite, without obvious regard to dying or falling seriously ill—unlike Harm, I note.
"Mmm…you outdid yourself Colonel." He grins.
"Thank you." I turn my attention back to Harm. "So, you'll be gone all weekend?"
He nods. "Be back Sunday night."
"Oh." Damn. I was hoping to rent a movie with him, or go jogging with him, or some activity that would keep me foremost in his thoughts for the Big Game. Sturgis stealing him away for the whole weekend with Keeter will no doubt nix that. They'll probably drink half the nights and flirt with every woman there.
I fix Sturgis with a Look. He grins even wider. We both know what's going on here.
He's not going to get my Superbowl seat, no matter how hard he tries to distract Harm. When it comes to distracting Harm, I think I can take care of that better than Sturgis could ever hope to.
Unless Harm meets up with some blonde.
Please, we just got rid of Renee. No more. We have a chance here, the two of us, as long as no one else is clouding the picture. We just have to figure out how to make that chance happen. It's difficult because I'm still unsure as to what he really wants. His career, family, and how I—us—fit into all that. To be honest, I'm not sure how he—us—fits into all that in my little scheme.
I want the family, and I know he does, too. Harm and I have always wanted a family. I've envisioned many times our children, our marriage, even our home. Not that trite white house with the white picket fence, but a two story, mostly brick home with a large family room and fireplace, a two—well three, with Harm's Vette—car garage and a large backyard so our kids could run.
And how many kids would that be? One? No, not if we can help it. At least two. Maybe three. Two little boys and a girl.
We're at a good point in our respective careers. But what are we each willing to give up in our careers for "us" to form that family together? We'd have to cut back on the extent we travel. Would we both, or would I as the mother be expected to make those cutbacks. I think Harm would insist on sharing that responsibility.
And what happens if Harm's assigned sea duty? Or stationed overseas? Or what if I am? Where do we go? Does our family move to wherever Harm's assigned, or do we move wherever I'm assigned? In that event, someone will have to make a sacrifice. Whose job do we consider most important to follow?
I realize both Harm and Sturgis are staring at me.
"Well," I say, forcing a smile, "Have fun on your little trip. And enjoy your cookies."
"I will. I'll try to catch you later before I leave."
"Good." Maybe I can at least give him a little goodbye present. Something to think about while he's waiting for the ski lift and some little snow bunny is trying to charm him away from me.
Damn if a third party is going to enter in this equation, anyway.
Like Chloe says, "First comes love, THEN comes marriage, THEN comes Harm with a baby carriage."
One thing at a time MacKenzie.
1547 ZULU
JAG HQ
Falls Church, VA
"Morning, Flyboy," I greet brightly. I'm determined not to have a repeat of yesterday.
He leans back in his chair and smiles, but it fades into suspicious amusement when he sees the plate I'm carrying.
"What have you got there?"
"A little treat for you," I reply cheerily, beaming what I hope is a smile to light up his senses.
The amusement is gone and now the suspiciousness is first and foremost in his demeanor. He regards the plate, covered by tinfoil, warily.
"Go ahead, take a look."
"You take a look. I've learned to beware of that which hides under tinfoil." He leans back and stares at me defiantly.
Arghh. All right. Fine. I whip the foil off and stand back proudly.
"Ta-da!"
He leans forward again and inspects the plate of cookies before him.
"What are they?"
"Cookies!" I exclaim, exasperated. Good grief, Mr. Tofu has to have had at least ONE cookie in his 38 years of existence.
"Wh-what kind of cookies?"
"Oatmeal raisin," I reply modestly.
"You…baked? For me?" Okay, I do not like the sound of that falling from his lips. "I didn't even know you knew how to bake," he murmurs still staring at the cookies.
All right, flyboy, you're starting to annoy me.
"Of course I can bake!" I snap. "I just…don't. Not enough time." He pokes at one with his finger then looks up.
"Have *you* tried one?"
"Er, eh, no. I prefer chocolate chip." He stares at me incredulously. He doesn't need to know that this is the first time I've ever baked oatmeal raisin cookies, nor does he need to know about the cloud of doubt that hung over me as I prepared them. Anyway, they look like oatmeal cookies. I'm sure they taste like them.
"Go on, taste one," I encourage.
He gives me a pleading look.
"Taste…one…" I repeat through clenched teeth.
He gives me another look, this one full of despondency, and obediently picks one up. He takes a bite of a couple crumbs and looks up at me.
"Mmm…good."
"Harm," I say, then stop. "Nevermind. Just give me the cookies." I snatch the tinfoil off the desk and reach for the plate. To my surprise he pulls it out of my reach.
He takes a real bite of the cookie, managing to cram about half of it in his mouth. He chews for a moment. He doesn't look like he's going to gag anytime soon. In fact, he looks rather surprised that he *isn't* going to gag anytime soon.
"Mmmm…actually these are sorta good." He says between chews.
"Really?" Okay, so I'm surprised that he isn't going to gag anytime soon, too.
He offers me the plate. "Wanna bite?"
Hmm…definitely. I must experience my own handiwork now that it's clear Harm won't die from it. "Just a small bite."
He holds out the other half of his cookie, the one he took a bite from.
"Thanks."
I take it and cram it into my mouth, trying to shush the voice in my head I haven't heard since high school that says a variation of "now your lips are touching mine." I really can't be that pathetic.
"Mmm…" These really are good. Damn MacKenzie. You should really take up baking.
Harm grabs another one off the plate before he takes the tinfoil from my hand and places it over the cookies. He sets the plate on top of his inbox.
"Thanks, Mac." He flashes a very nice wide smile that makes my stomach flutter. "Still, I don't know if that'll be enough to persuade me."
He winks. He actually winks at me. I'm not sure whether I'm flattered or infuriated when I realize his insinuations.
"Oh. And what *would* persuade you?"
"Well…"
"Hey Harm," Sturgis busts in.
ARRRGGHHH.
"So, ready for this weekend?"
I look at Harm questioningly. For a split second, Harm looks almost as annoyed as I feel upon Sturgis's interruption, but the look is gone, replaced by the smirk he's been wearing since we found out about his super luck with the Superbowl.
"You bet, buddy."
"What time do you want to check out of here?"
Harm considers. He knows I'm watching him, too, so he puts on a good show of a furrowed brow and a thoughtful expression. I know the looks. I see them in court all the time. Why he thinks he can fool me…
"Probably about 1530 or 1600 if we can manage it. I want to try to beat rush hour traffic."
"Agreed."
"Going somewhere?" I ask, not even trying to be subtle.
"Yeah, Harm and I have a mutual friend from the academy—Jack Keeter—and we're all going to go skiing in Vermont," Sturgis answers.
Skiing? Harm? In Vermont?
"Hmm, well tell Commander Keeter he better stay out of trouble because I'm not coming to bail his ass out again. Once was enough."
I fix a stern glance at Harm. "I'm not bailing yours out either."
"Yes, ma'am," Harm gives me a mock salute. He looks pleased that I don't seem to recall Commander Keeter with fond memories. Actually he wasn't that bad. A little arrogant, but that's nothing that I haven't experienced with Harm before. Or any other jet jock. We exchanged some interesting stories about Harm.
One comes to mind, and I can't resist adding,
"Try to avoid the shrubbery…particularly around pretty girls." Actually, you can hit the shrubbery, just avoid the pretty girls.
Sturgis bursts out laughing and Harm squirms in his chair.
"Ooh, are those oatmeal raisin cookies?"
"Yeah. Mac made them," he informs Sturgis.
"Really?" Sturgis looks at me with interest. Harm offers one to Sturgis. He takes a bite, without obvious regard to dying or falling seriously ill—unlike Harm, I note.
"Mmm…you outdid yourself Colonel." He grins.
"Thank you." I turn my attention back to Harm. "So, you'll be gone all weekend?"
He nods. "Be back Sunday night."
"Oh." Damn. I was hoping to rent a movie with him, or go jogging with him, or some activity that would keep me foremost in his thoughts for the Big Game. Sturgis stealing him away for the whole weekend with Keeter will no doubt nix that. They'll probably drink half the nights and flirt with every woman there.
I fix Sturgis with a Look. He grins even wider. We both know what's going on here.
He's not going to get my Superbowl seat, no matter how hard he tries to distract Harm. When it comes to distracting Harm, I think I can take care of that better than Sturgis could ever hope to.
Unless Harm meets up with some blonde.
Please, we just got rid of Renee. No more. We have a chance here, the two of us, as long as no one else is clouding the picture. We just have to figure out how to make that chance happen. It's difficult because I'm still unsure as to what he really wants. His career, family, and how I—us—fit into all that. To be honest, I'm not sure how he—us—fits into all that in my little scheme.
I want the family, and I know he does, too. Harm and I have always wanted a family. I've envisioned many times our children, our marriage, even our home. Not that trite white house with the white picket fence, but a two story, mostly brick home with a large family room and fireplace, a two—well three, with Harm's Vette—car garage and a large backyard so our kids could run.
And how many kids would that be? One? No, not if we can help it. At least two. Maybe three. Two little boys and a girl.
We're at a good point in our respective careers. But what are we each willing to give up in our careers for "us" to form that family together? We'd have to cut back on the extent we travel. Would we both, or would I as the mother be expected to make those cutbacks. I think Harm would insist on sharing that responsibility.
And what happens if Harm's assigned sea duty? Or stationed overseas? Or what if I am? Where do we go? Does our family move to wherever Harm's assigned, or do we move wherever I'm assigned? In that event, someone will have to make a sacrifice. Whose job do we consider most important to follow?
I realize both Harm and Sturgis are staring at me.
"Well," I say, forcing a smile, "Have fun on your little trip. And enjoy your cookies."
"I will. I'll try to catch you later before I leave."
"Good." Maybe I can at least give him a little goodbye present. Something to think about while he's waiting for the ski lift and some little snow bunny is trying to charm him away from me.
Damn if a third party is going to enter in this equation, anyway.
Like Chloe says, "First comes love, THEN comes marriage, THEN comes Harm with a baby carriage."
One thing at a time MacKenzie.