Page 32 of Jacques

As quietly as he could, he loaded the coffeemaker with grounds and filled the reservoir with water.

As he moved, he glanced at Danny several times, hoping he hadn’t disturbed her sleep. Her auburn hair had dried in a thick, wavy mass around her shoulders and halfway across her cheeks. She was a beautiful woman who deserved peace and happiness.

Jacques dragged his gaze from her, pulled two mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter.

“Is some of that coffee for me?” she called out in a sleepy, gravelly voice.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Danny pushed up to a sitting position, the blanket falling from her shoulders to pool around her hips. “Smells like heaven.”

“Coming right up,” he said. “Cream or sugar?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “In the field, I learned to drink it black. It was better than none at all.” She rubbed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and stretched her arms over her head. Then she let out a long sigh and met his gaze. “I don’t think I’ve slept better. The sofa’s a keeper.”

“Right?” He grinned. “I’m glad we ended up here. I would’ve been perfectly satisfied to let you have the bed, knowing the sofa is equally sleep-worthy.”

She smiled. “Sleep-worthy?”

“It’s a thing.” He opened the refrigerator. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“What do you have?”

“Eggs,” he said. “And toast, if the bread isn’t moldy.” He pulled half a loaf from a cabinet, opened the wrapper and grimaced. “Nix on the bread. It has succumbed to Louisiana humidity.” He tossed the loaf in the trash and pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “I make a mean omelet.”

“Sounds good.”

“Let me finish,” he said. “I make a mean omelet, if I have all the ingredients. Unfortunately, all I have are the eggs and some leftover pizza slices that probably should go the way of the bread.”

Danny laughed. “Scrambled eggs it is, then. I can make them.”

“No. I’ve got this.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

She gathered her gym bag and slipped through the bedroom into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Jacques smiled, happy she’d slept well. After having her apartment broken into, her anxiety levels had to have been high. He was surprised the intrusion hadn’t triggered one of her massive panic attacks.

He understood them all too well. After a mission that had gone straight to hell with mortar rounds, IEDs and grenades exploding all around him, Jacques had battled through months of nightmares that had disturbed his sleep and left him exhausted in the morning. Loud noises like a vehicle’s backfire or fireworks still made him want to crawl into a dark, soundproof corner to ride it out.

He supposed that was why the first time he’d found Danny curled up in the far corner of a cooler, he’d felt a connection. Both of them had experienced trauma.

His trauma had ended when he’d returned to the States. For the most part, people here weren’t trying to kill him.

Danny’s situation had been worse. It had been more personal. Because it remained unresolved, it was a living nightmare that wouldn’t quit.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a soft green blouse, Jacques was just scraping scrambled eggs onto plates.

“Perfect timing,” he said as he carried their plates to the table he’d already set with silverware, salt, pepper and orange juice.

“It’s not much, but we can catch an early lunch if you get hungry. I’d offer the stale pizza, but it wasn’t much better than the moldy bread. I’ll pick up groceries at Broussard’s later today. I can cook a mean jambalaya.”

Danny cocked an eyebrow. “You can cook jambalaya?”

Jacques puffed out his chest. “Yes, ma’am, I can. I found a recipe online, and it turned out pretty good, if I say so myself. Anton and Xavier can vouch for it, too. I made it in the kitchen downstairs when Xavier still lived here. Do you have your mother’s recipe?”

“I do,” she said with a smile. “She sent me a screenshot of it. I still have it in my cell phone photos.”

“We can use it to get the ingredients and compare it to the recipe online.” He gathered the last of his eggs on his fork and looked across the table at her. “Dinner? Tonight?”