Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 24

The raindrops beating on the windshield softened, and eventually, she could see through the glass again. Another grey December day.

"I think it's stopped." Max had been silent for what seemed like an hour.

Arms crossed over her stomach, she tried to quell the sting of remorse over asking about his girlfriend. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, desperate to know about the woman Max had loved, was still pinning over. Bug. He'd given her a nickname. Albeit a terrible one, from Sophie's perspective. A warmth spread in her chest at the thought of his nickname for her. Sunshine. The word shouldn't have this effect, but the sheer notion of him having a nickname picked out for her caused tiny butterflies to stir in places they hadn't for years.

She glanced at the clock. "It's almost noon. Should we grab lunch?"

"I could eat."

"Not much choice in Bridgetown, other than the Waterfront Cafe."

Max rubbed his wrist. "Any place else?"

"We could hit the market, then head to the winery. Simon and Mary are away for the weekend and I'd like to see the new prep table the renovators installed yesterday." After years of working in other people's kitchens, her designs were coming to life, starting with a wide stainless steel island that would be the centerpiece of the work area. "I could make us something there."

The corners of Max's lips tipped north. "I like it. Want me to drive?"

"I got it." She started the Jeep, put it in drive and, determined to master her fears, pressed the gas pedal.

How had she gotten herself into this? Never in a million years did Sophie think she'd be living in a small town without transportation. As a child, they'd never had a car, too expensive in New York. When she moved to New Haven, it was quick and easy to take the train back home to the city. Even though Yale was surrounded by a small town, the bus system was extensive and she could get anywhere she couldn't walk to back then. Still, she always preferred to walk. Maybe it was being a New Yorker, or maybe it was her love of the outdoors.

After Thomas's death, she couldn't stand the idea of being behind the wheel of a vehicle, the risk of losing control too great. The longer the distance from driving a car, the harder it got to contemplate getting back into one.

Until she ended up living with Emily and Finn, miles away from the nearest anything. Bridgetown had exactly one bus. The Greyhound that rumbled through once a day on its way to Washington. Suddenly, she was reliant on her friends to go anywhere. One thing Sophie hated was depending on others. They might leave unexpectedly.

Christmas decorations lined the main street of Bridgetown, and Bing Crosby crooned through the speakers of the market as they picked up freshly baked bread, an array of cheeses, cured meats, and fresh vegetables. She selected organic strawberries and custard tarts that fit in the palm of her hand from the local bakery for something sweet. Max insisted on a bottle of wine, even though Sophie said it wasn't necessary.

The sun peaked out from the clouds on the drive to the winery and the smell of fresh paint greeted them as they entered the farmhouse. Sophie ran a hand across the newly installed stainless steel piece of furniture in the middle of the room. "Hello my pretty."

"Did you just call the table pretty?" Max opened one of the paper bags and began unloading cheeses.

Sophie popped into the dining room, returning a platter, two dishes and an assortment of utensils. "Yup. You give people nicknames. I complement my work tools."

Max leaned a hip against the island. "Why did you want to become a chef?"

"Maybe it's in my blood? My parents own a restaurant. Grew up there. My earliest memories are of watching my mother prepping kimchi late at night after we'd close. Bowls of covering the kitchen like confetti, her massaging the cabbage every thirty minutes for hours."