Page 2 of Wintering with George

But now, getting off the plane in Portland two days before Christmas, from how excited he was on the phone the night before, I knew I’d made him happy. It was all that mattered.

As Poznan, where I’d flown out of, was nine hours ahead, by the time I was walking through the terminal toward the arrival area, I was dead on my feet. The thing was, I’d had to get a military transport out of Poznan to New York, and when you flew that way, you caught whatever flight was available. It was their timetable, not yours. I really wanted to make a good impression on his family, but I was both sleep-deprived and starving, not at all a winning combination.

As I had no luggage, just my Army duffel, I headed toward where it said ground transport was and called Kurt.

“Hey,” he greeted me, answering on the second ring. “We parked, and we’re on the way to baggage claim to meet you.”

First off, we? I hadn’t slept in four days, I was bruised—nothing broken though it felt like it—and with no food, greeting others was a mistake. Of course, since this was the first time I’d spoken to him, other than the quick I’m on my way when I called earlier, there was no way for him to know I wasn’t ready for a meet-and-greet. But what annoyed me was that he knew better. He knew me. And he certainly understood that when I’d just gotten off a plane after a mission was not the time for introductions of any kind.

“Well, I’m headed to where all the taxis are because I don’t have anything but my duffel, so there’s no baggage to get.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he groaned. “Crap.”

Immediately, I felt bad because Kurt running himself down, for any reason, bothered me. He was such a kind man, and I told him that often. “It’s fine. I’ll wait inside. Just come back up the stairs; I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, perfect,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t wait to see you.”

I wished I looked a bit better, but I was in my ACUs, my Army Combat Uniform, and my field jacket that was not as clean as I would have liked it to be. Seemed like good first impressions were out the window, and I felt bad about that. I hoped they weren’t huggers either, because yes, I’d been medically cleared at the base in Poznan once the op was done, but I had fresh stitches and bruises. Being squeezed, by anyone but Kurt, could be uncomfortable.

Standing there, waiting, I thought of all the times no one had been there to get me, and reminded myself that this was a blessing, having someone like Kurt in my life, someone who showed up. I had to stop being a prick, being selfish, just thinking about myself. And I could. I would. Because he was worth it.

“George!”

Turning, I saw Kurt rushing through the crowd—or trying to, with so many people blocking his way. He stopped moving, lifted his finger to signal for me to wait a moment, and then finally threw up his arms in frustration. I couldn’t help smiling. The second there was an opening in the crowd, he bolted toward me.

It hurt a little when he collided with me, but it was worth it to feel his warm, muscular frame wedged close, his lips on the side of my neck, then my cheek, and finally, his mouth on mine as he kissed me once and then again.

“You missed me,” I whispered against his mouth when he leaned back with a whimper. Clearly, he wanted to go right on kissing me.

“I always miss you,” he replied hoarsely. “Are you hurt?”

“Do I look hurt?”

“It’s hard to tell,” he said before kissing me again.

“Let the man breathe, K,” a woman said with a laugh. She was a stunning blonde with the same gunmetal-gray eyes her brother had.

“Breathing isn’t necessary,” he assured her. “George, this is my sister, Thomasin, but you can call her Sin.”

Her smile was big as she stepped in close and offered me her hand. “Please don’t call me Sin. Thom is great, or Tommy as my friends do.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said softly, shaking her hand.

“This is my husband, Brad.” She let go of my hand so her handsome husband, who looked like the investment banker he was, leaned in to shake.

He was wearing a puffer vest, and so was she. They looked adorable, like they belonged in Town & Country Magazine, both crisp and polished, she in her brushed-leather Prada loafers, he in his Ferragamo driving ones. And as a rule, I didn’t know one pair of shoes from another, but Kurt was a brand-conscious guy and was slowly adding to my wardrobe from the shoes up. I now had both of those in my own closet and so recognized them. He liked me to have nice things, and I appreciated that. I’d been wary at first, thinking he needed a far richer partner than me, but it came down to him loving spoiling me, and that was all. But his sister and her husband were definitely in a different tax bracket than me, and it was more than evident in everything, from their shoes to his massive watch to her jewelry—an enormous diamond ring and several gold and precious-stone bracelets on her wrist. Neither was shopping at Target with me, that’s for sure. And that wasn’t a judgment, just an observation. And because of how those things would have sounded if I said them out loud, as a rule I made comments like that to very few people. Kurt and I weren’t there yet, even after two years. I didn’t want to lose him, so I was careful about everything I said.

But I shouldn’t have been, and I knew that. Beyond not saying anything unkind, I should have been able to speak my mind about anything I was thinking, especially since Kurt truly wanted to know. He wanted to learn everything about me.

“I worry about that,” I told him once.

“What?”

“Me telling you what’s in my head.”

“Why?”

Hard to explain that I worried about the fact that how I saw things wasn’t how other people did. And if Kurt and I weren’t aligned, was that it for us? Would he throw me away? “What if you disagree with me, or worse, think I’m psychotic or something?”