you feeling all right?”
He shook his head and Melissa saw him squeeze his eyes shut, then open them, his gaze darting around the restaurant in a way that struck her alarmingly like the gaze of a trapped animal. “Hey, you guys excuse me, okay?” he said abruptly. “I need some air.” Without making further excuses, he rose and headed away from the table, and Melissa noted with amusement that most of the women in The Willows seemed to be tracking his every move.
Dennis and Patrick, of course, had cleaned their plates and then some—understandable after eleven months of vacuum-packaged food on board the Excursion. Across from her, however, the senator’s slice of tiramisu had hardly been touched in favor of his once-again-empty drink glass. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked, bewildered.
Melissa folded her napkin and stood. “I’ll take care of him.” As she headed after Patrick, she had to smile at Dennis’s candid quip:
“Actually, I think there were two too many people at this table.”
I n good weather, patrons of The Willows often waited outside, in a tiny, tree-lined plaza to the side of the restaurant. Melissa found Patrick there, sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches with his hands folded between his knees, staring down at the quaint pattern of cobblestones on the ground. Around them a soft, warm breeze ruffled the leaves and drove away the last of the humidity that had been so stifling earlier in the day. She joined him on the bench and sat quietly for a moment without touching him, sensing that he needed undisturbed time to collect himself. It seemed like a peaceful oasis here—private and dark, lit only by the glow of the four old-fashioned gas lamps at each corner of the paved square.
Finally Patrick lifted his head, his expression a little more relaxed. “My head was ringing like crazy,” he explained. “For a minute I felt like I could hear people whispering about us from thirty yards across the room.” He laughed ruefully. “Meet Commander Patrick Ross, the Amazing Hearing Aid.”
Melissa touched his knee. “Patrick, I think you should talk to the doctor. These spells you’ve been having—”
“Sweetheart, I had a full physical from the NASA physician after the landing, you know that. He and his team said I was fine.”
“Maybe you need a second opinion.”
He shook his head. “Forget it. I’ve been poked and prodded enough for now. They can wait until the next mission.” He lapsed into silence and studied her, and she watched his eyes tracing her features. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” His fingers reached out and lifted a strand of her hair and held it up to the soft light. “These lamps make your hair almost look like sand spread with stardust.” He let the hair fall, then rubbed his face with both hands. “You know what I think it is?” he said. “The damned pressure. People think this is fun, but it’s not—it’s just a drag, like having a boulder tied around your neck. ‘You gonna fly another mission, Patrick?’ ‘You gonna run for office, Patrick?’ ” His voice lightened a bit. “ ‘You gonna marry Melissa, Patrick?’ ” He gave her a sideways glance, a sparkle in his eye that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“I tell them ‘maybe,’ ‘no,’ and ‘yes.’ ”
Melissa blinked. “What—”
“You’ll marry me, won’t you, Missy?”
“You’re proposing to me?” she asked. “Right here? Now?”
“I sure am.” He raised his hand and opened his fingers. Melissa didn’t know how long he’d been hiding it, but nestled on his palm was an exquisite filigreed gold band with a pear-shaped diamond mounted on it. Patrick took her hand in his and slipped the ring onto her ring finger, then brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Don’t you know that I’ve loved you since the day we met? You’re everything to me—my love, my world, my life. I want you until death do us part.”
Tears filled her hazel eyes.
He shook his head and Melissa saw him squeeze his eyes shut, then open them, his gaze darting around the restaurant in a way that struck her alarmingly like the gaze of a trapped animal. “Hey, you guys excuse me, okay?” he said abruptly. “I need some air.” Without making further excuses, he rose and headed away from the table, and Melissa noted with amusement that most of the women in The Willows seemed to be tracking his every move.
Dennis and Patrick, of course, had cleaned their plates and then some—understandable after eleven months of vacuum-packaged food on board the Excursion. Across from her, however, the senator’s slice of tiramisu had hardly been touched in favor of his once-again-empty drink glass. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked, bewildered.
Melissa folded her napkin and stood. “I’ll take care of him.” As she headed after Patrick, she had to smile at Dennis’s candid quip:
“Actually, I think there were two too many people at this table.”
I n good weather, patrons of The Willows often waited outside, in a tiny, tree-lined plaza to the side of the restaurant. Melissa found Patrick there, sitting on one of the wrought-iron benches with his hands folded between his knees, staring down at the quaint pattern of cobblestones on the ground. Around them a soft, warm breeze ruffled the leaves and drove away the last of the humidity that had been so stifling earlier in the day. She joined him on the bench and sat quietly for a moment without touching him, sensing that he needed undisturbed time to collect himself. It seemed like a peaceful oasis here—private and dark, lit only by the glow of the four old-fashioned gas lamps at each corner of the paved square.
Finally Patrick lifted his head, his expression a little more relaxed. “My head was ringing like crazy,” he explained. “For a minute I felt like I could hear people whispering about us from thirty yards across the room.” He laughed ruefully. “Meet Commander Patrick Ross, the Amazing Hearing Aid.”
Melissa touched his knee. “Patrick, I think you should talk to the doctor. These spells you’ve been having—”
“Sweetheart, I had a full physical from the NASA physician after the landing, you know that. He and his team said I was fine.”
“Maybe you need a second opinion.”
He shook his head. “Forget it. I’ve been poked and prodded enough for now. They can wait until the next mission.” He lapsed into silence and studied her, and she watched his eyes tracing her features. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” His fingers reached out and lifted a strand of her hair and held it up to the soft light. “These lamps make your hair almost look like sand spread with stardust.” He let the hair fall, then rubbed his face with both hands. “You know what I think it is?” he said. “The damned pressure. People think this is fun, but it’s not—it’s just a drag, like having a boulder tied around your neck. ‘You gonna fly another mission, Patrick?’ ‘You gonna run for office, Patrick?’ ” His voice lightened a bit. “ ‘You gonna marry Melissa, Patrick?’ ” He gave her a sideways glance, a sparkle in his eye that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“I tell them ‘maybe,’ ‘no,’ and ‘yes.’ ”
Melissa blinked. “What—”
“You’ll marry me, won’t you, Missy?”
“You’re proposing to me?” she asked. “Right here? Now?”
“I sure am.” He raised his hand and opened his fingers. Melissa didn’t know how long he’d been hiding it, but nestled on his palm was an exquisite filigreed gold band with a pear-shaped diamond mounted on it. Patrick took her hand in his and slipped the ring onto her ring finger, then brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Don’t you know that I’ve loved you since the day we met? You’re everything to me—my love, my world, my life. I want you until death do us part.”
Tears filled her hazel eyes.
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