True, it was nothing like she pictured as a child, yet it was all the better for it. And besides, who was she to deny fate, when it had taken a million and one separate events to bring her to Jameson?
“Maybe I am an idealist.” Constance shrugged. “I just can’t believe they wouldn’t want to see you happy. I’d always thought their threats were just that, idle threats.”
“Don’t be angry with them,” Scarlett said gently. “They’re fighting for the only way of life they know. They’re not unlike a wounded animal when you think about it. And I refuse to be sad today. It is their loss.”
“It really is,” Constance agreed. “I’ve never seen you look so happy, so beautiful. Love looks good on you.”
“Will you be all right?” Scarlett turned slightly in her chair, facing her sister. “Our home is only a few minutes from the airfield, but—”
“Stop.” Constance lifted her eyebrows. “I will be perfectly fine.”
“I know. I just can’t remember the last time we were separated for any length of time.” Perhaps a few days here or there, but not much else.
“We’ll still see each other at work.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Scarlett said softly. Now that she was married, she’d follow Jameson when the 71st inevitably left Kirton. Training the new pilots couldn’t last forever.
“Well, we’ll handle that when the time comes. For now, the only thing that’s changing is where you sleep…” She tilted her head. “Oh, and where you eat, and spend your free time, and of course who you’ll be sleeping with.” Her eyes danced.
Scarlett rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks heat as Jameson came toward them in his dress uniform. She spun her new ring around her finger with her thumb, assuring herself that this wasn’t a dream. They’d made it happen.
…
“That was the last of them,” Jameson said with a smile, his gaze skimming down the long line of Scarlett’s neck to the simple, classy dress she’d chosen. He would have married her in her uniform or even her bathrobe—he didn’t care. He’d take this woman any way he could get her. “I swear I’ve been holding the same pint for the last hour and a half, hoping no one will notice.” He put the glass on the table.
“You could have had more than one. I think it’s expected.” Scarlett’s own glass was still full.
“I wanted to have a clear head.” His lips tugged upward. He wasn’t about to be drunk the first time he got his hands on her. Hell, he’d nearly carried her over his shoulder to their new house last night, but waiting was better. The anticipation of it was killing him in the sweetest way imaginable.
“Did you?” Lord, that smile of hers nearly took him out at the knees.
“What do you say I take you home, Mrs. Stanton?” He held out his hand for hers.
“Mrs. Stanton,” Scarlett replied with a spark of joy in her eyes as her fingers brushed his.
“You sure as hell are.” Just hearing her say it sent his heart skyrocketing.
They made their farewells, and it was only a matter of minutes before Jameson parked one of the squadron cars in front of what was now their home.
He swept her off her feet, lifting her into his arms at the edge of the sidewalk. “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” she replied, lacing her fingers behind his neck.
He kissed her softly, brushing his lips over hers as he walked them up the sidewalk, only lifting his head when they came to the steps.
“My trunk—” she started.
“I’ll get it later,” he promised. “I want you to see the house.” She’d been on watch when he’d found it yesterday. His stomach dipped. “It’s not what you’re used to.” He’d learned enough about her family to know this little place of theirs would probably fit in one of the Wrights’ dining rooms.
She kissed him in reply. “Unless you’re asking me to share it with eleven other women, it’s far better than anything I’ve had over the last year.”
“God, I love you.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”
He laughed, then somehow managed to unlock the door and push it open without dropping her as he carried her over the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Stanton,” he said as he set her feet on the floor.
Mrs. Stanton. He was never going to tire of saying it.
Scarlett’s gaze made a quick sweep of the interior. The house opened into a modest living room that, thankfully, had come furnished. A staircase divided the space, with the dining room to the right, including a small table and chairs, and the kitchen lay just beyond it to the back of the house.
“It’s lovely,” Scarlett said as she took it all in. “Quite perfect, really.” She ran her hand over the dining room table as she walked, and Jameson followed her into the kitchen.
She paled, her smile vanishing as her gaze jumped from the oven to the small table, and over the counters. Horror emanated from every line of her face.
“What’s wrong?” His stomach pitched. Was it missing something? Shit. He should have waited for something better.
She turned to face him, then met his gaze with wide eyes. “This might not be the most opportune time to tell you, but I can’t cook.”
He blinked. “You can’t cook,” he repeated slowly, just to be sure he’d heard her right.
She shook her head. “Not a thing. I’m sure I could figure out how to turn the stove on, but not much else.”
“Okay. But the kitchen is acceptable?” He tried to equate the angst in her eyes to her confession and came up short.
“Of course!” She nodded. “It’s lovely. I’m just not sure what to do with it. I never learned to cook at home, and it’s been the officers’ mess since then.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth.
The relief was so sharp and sweet that he couldn’t help but laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. “I’m not saying I can put on a five-course meal, but if I can fry up eggs and bacon over a campfire, I think I’ll be able to keep us fed while we figure it out.”
“If we could even get real eggs,” she muttered as her arms wrapped around his waist.
“Very true.” As a pilot, a diet of eggs and bacon bettered his chances of surviving a water landing and were shoved at him with such regularity that he’d nearly forgotten how rare they were.