Accidentally in Love with the Pilot Page 6

  “Oh.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “You were an only child,” she said, frowning sympathetically, as though he’d been kept in a cage.

  In defense of his upbringing, he said, “Yeah, but it’s okay. I could drive the cart and carry groceries, and I never had to share my Halloween candy.”

  She smiled. “You’re a half-full person. I like that.”

  He’d never really thought of himself one way or the other, but he supposed it was true. He might have been a shy, fatherless kid, but he’d had the best mom and grandmother in the world, and for all the dark times, he had plenty of great memories.

  Their first stop was produce, where Ben selected a few oranges, a grapefruit, and a pineapple to juice for tomorrow’s breakfast while Megan picked through the discounted greens for the rabbit. “Harry’s turtle likes fresh lettuce, too,” she told him.

  “Tuttle! Tuttle!” A small child with curly light brown hair jumped up and down in front of Megan.

  She laughed. “That’s right, turtle. My nephew has one. Do you like turtles?”

  “Yike tuttle!” The kid was cute. Ben supposed Megan’s and his little one—not that there was actually going to be one—would have curly brown hair like that, a blend of his roots with hers.

  “Braden? Braden!” A young woman holding her phone to one ear used her free hand to grab the kid and tug him halfway down the next aisle to her grocery cart, yammering to the person on the other end the whole time about how her kid couldn’t pay attention to save his life.

  Megan shook her head. “Who’s got an attention problem?” she muttered. “I’d like to see her try to keep track of the Shuttlekrumplets.”

  Ben flashed back to a time when he’d gotten separated from his mother at the store. He was five or so, and he’d stopped to look at something in the cereal aisle—the greatest prize ever, probably. When he’d looked up, Mom was gone.

  He ran to the end of the aisle, but didn’t see her. Not in the next aisle, or the one after that. He wanted to keep looking, but in his panic, he froze. He remembered the taste of tears rolling down his face, and he couldn’t even call out for her.

  An enormously pregnant lady stopped to help him, but he was so shy he couldn’t tell her his name, much less his mom’s. Come on, buddy, let’s go find your mom. Hey, there’s something wrong with this kid. He can’t talk.

  A wash of cold fear swept through him. Not now. His vision wavered. He hadn’t had an anxiety attack like this since college. Focusing on the possibility of suing the hypnotists and therapists he’d consulted kept him grounded enough to avoid fainting, but it was Megan’s hand on his arm that held him in place and not running for fresh air.

  “You okay?” she asked, concern knitting her brow.

  He found her deep brown eyes, and in them, a world of…peace? Acceptance? And with one deep breath, he was back on solid ground. He blinked. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just kind of zoned out there for a sec.”

  She nodded. “It’s been a crazy couple of days. Hangovers combined with not enough sleep—I won’t let us get trapped at my mom and dad’s for too long.”

  …

  “We can stay as long as you like,” Ben said, which was fine, because as long as she liked might actually coincide with not trapped for too long. For once, Megan didn’t feel like staying in the bosom of her family until the wee hours like she normally did. The way Ben’s face had paled at the mention of her nieces and nephews, it was good she planned to get them out of there as soon as they could choke down dessert.

  “What else do we need for home?” she asked, noticing that she’d said “home” instead of “my place,” as though he were already a regular part of her life.

  Bad idea, Megan. Do not get attached. He’s out of here as soon as possible—when his leave is up, if not as soon as you find out whether you’re pregnant or not.

  He frowned in thought. “Snacks for later tonight?”

  Snacks. For tonight. And later.

  “What do you like?” They were in the cereal aisle, and she rolled the cart toward the Cap’n Crunch.

  He picked up a box of granola bars and asked, “With raisins and nuts?” until he turned and saw the look on her face and quickly returned it to the shelf. “Why don’t you decide?”

  She grabbed a box of Crunch Berries. “We need some chocolate syrup,” she announced.

  The edge of Ben’s mouth lifted along with his eyebrows. “Chocolate syrup I get, but what’s the cereal for?”

  Megan snorted at the implications for chocolate syrup and developed a few mental pictures. But cereal? “Energy. You know. In case the syrup isn’t enough or gets, you know, diverted.”

  He grinned. She did like to make him smile.

  She said, “Let’s get something salty, too. Pretzels?” She turned the cart into that aisle. “Oh, look there. Rods, or twists?”

  He cleared his throat and holding her gaze, said, “Both.”

  “Kinky,” Megan said, and put two bags in the cart. “We’d better get out of here before I decide we need vegetable oil, too.”

  “Good idea,” Ben said, then muttered something under his breath that sounded like, Before we have to find a back room.

  “What?” she asked, feeling a little warm in spite of the air-conditioning.

  “Nothing.” He glanced at his watch and took a deep breath. “Let’s go see your family.”

  Ah, geez. She could tell he already hated them, if he needed yoga breaths to talk about visiting. Megan felt her sexy-fun mood fade into disappointment. At least he’s a good sport about it.

  “I need to hit the pet food aisle and grab some bunny chow,” she said, instead of calling him on his obvious reluctance to hang out at her parents’. They had a whole month to be married, and she didn’t want to start their first fight on day one, but she hadn’t met a guy yet who could stand the Shuttlekrump chaos, or her part in it, for very long.

  Ben hoisted the economy-sized bag of rabbit food and lowered it gently into the cart. Admiring the way his muscles flexed, Megan considered going into the Great Dane breeding business just so she could watch him help her carry their groceries.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “What do you want for breakfast? They have some okay organic Pop-Tart things, or we can stop at the convenience store on the way home,” she added hopefully.

  “Pop-Tarts?” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think so.” He turned and led the way to the egg, butter, and cheese aisle.

  A free-range egg omelet would probably be almost as good, and she followed along.

  They were in line for the checkout when they ran into their little friend again. He was crouched down next to a ceiling-high pyramid of sparkling water twelve-packs and seemed intent on figuring out how the boxes were assembled. His mother was in front of them in line, unloading the cart with one hand and texting with the other.

  “How does she do that?” she whispered to Ben. “I need both hands to text.”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But— Oh shit!” He all but shoved Megan out of the way as he dived across the tile separating them from the drink display.

  The little kid had managed to break open the bottommost box that was sitting on its long side, and the cans inside began to roll out onto the floor, making the entire structure wobble. The pyramid was going to fall, and it would surely crush the boy before taking out most of the rest of the shoppers.

  “Catch!” Ben called to her, scooping up the little boy and tossing him to her before reaching down to grab the next box in the stack, squatting down to hold it in place with one hand while leaning his shoulder in to keep the pyramid from toppling.

  “Tuttle!” the kid said to Megan, patting her on the cheek.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Texting Mom put her phone down and snatched her son from Megan’s arms. “Keep your hands off my baby!”

  Megan shot a glance to see that Ben was okay for the moment, and that a store employee had rushed to his aid, and
then she ripped into the Not-Mother-of-the-Year.

  “Keep your eyes on your baby, you—you—one-handed texter!”

  “That’ll be one-hundred twenty-seven dollars and sixty-two cents,” the cashier called to the mother, brow furrowed with concern that he was going to have to break up a girl fight.

  Texting Mom huffed her way to the credit card reader, and Megan moved her cart out of line to see what she could do to help Ben, who was watching her and smiling.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re gonna be a good mom,” he told her from his position on the floor, where his arms were bulging with the effort of holding up the water mountain. “You know. Whenever that happens.”

  She snorted, trying to hide her embarrassment over her outburst. “I probably shouldn’t have yelled at her. Kids wander off all the time.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. I got lost in the store once, and didn’t let go of my mother’s hand in public for years after that.” He smiled. “Like until eleventh grade, anyway.”

  Megan laughed.

  Finally, a store clerk shoved a new twelve-pack into the now-empty slot, and Ben stood, stretching a little as he did so.

  “Thank you for saving that kid and the store,” the manager said, shaking Ben’s hand.

  “No problem,” he said, ducking his head and running his hand over it, which she’d noticed him doing when he seemed unsure of himself.

  As they paid for their food and walked out of the store, Megan let him push the cart so she could hook her hand through his arm again. He smiled down at her, looking a little surprised, but not displeased—and then he stopped to help an elderly man pick up the change he’d dropped.

  Sheesh. Not only was he handsome as anything and knew how to cook, he was a freaking Boy Scout.

  A Boy Scout with shoulders as wide as Kansas and a really nice ass.

  Chapter Eight

  The good news, Ben thought, was that they weren’t all sitting on the front porch waiting for him with jaws and fists clenched when Megan pulled into the driveway an hour later. The elder Walla—er, Shuttlekrumps lived in a little brick bungalow in a modest working-class neighborhood in Henderson. Pretty much like the house where Ben had grown up.

  The bad news was that there were at least two, no, three, wait—four—he stopped counting—interested faces pressed to the front window.

  How many of them were there? He swallowed, feeling a knot beginning to form in the vicinity of his solar plexus. The adults had been too large—at least, the group of them had been too big, metaphorically—for the spacious bar in the enormous casino. Add kids and spouses? Nana’s Place restaurant on an after-church Sunday had nothing on this.

  “Ready?” Megan asked, putting the car in park. She glared up through the windshield and stuck her tongue out at the people staring at them. One, a small boy, stuck his tongue back out at her. Another boy, a couple of years older, gave her the finger. She laughed and turned her head to regard Ben. He smiled and tried to look excited.

  Crowds were definitely not his thing. He’d been in the kitchen at his grandma’s restaurant instead of waiting tables for a reason.

  He took a few cleansing breaths, trying not to hyperventilate in the process. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He got out of the car and waited for Megan to come around, and followed her up the concrete walkway. The front door was thrown open before they hit the first porch step.

  “Meggie!” A very tiny female in a pink leotard bounced out and launched herself off the porch, clearly expecting to be caught. She was, scooped securely in her aunt’s arms. This, Ben guessed, was Lexxie of the dance recital.

  The ballerina was quickly followed by another kid—Ben thought it was the one with the tongue. He yelled, “You’re stinky,” and darted back inside.

  The middle-finger saluter stood blocking the doorway, arms crossed, staring squinty-eyed for a long moment before he turned and swaggered back into the house.

  The rest of the greeting gauntlet was more civilized, and relatively less hostile, though Ben thought he might prefer physical danger to the crowd swelling into the entryway. He tried to will his hands to stop sweating as he was introduced, or reintroduced, very quickly to several nieces and nephews, the sister and her husband, both brothers and their wives, and finally, to Megan’s parents, Elaine and Alan Shuttlekrump. His in-laws. He gave up and wiped his hands on his shorts before reaching out to shake.

  “Nice to see you again,” he managed to croak, while the rest of the family broke ranks. Each talked over the next, making it difficult to hear what Megan’s parents said to him.

  Mrs. Shuttlekrump motioned for Megan and him to follow them out of the living room, and they went down a short hallway to a blessedly quiet—though hot as hell—kitchen. He’d been much hotter and sweatier in his flight suit on a regular basis, but was way less comfortable here.

  “Have a seat, Ben,” Mrs. Shuttlekrump directed. “What can I get you to drink?”

  He thought about asking for a beer, but the remnants of this morning’s hangover woke up and suggested that was a bad idea. “Just water, thanks.”

  He sat on a wooden stool next to Megan at a counter-height table. One of the brothers came in and sat down on the other side of Megan.

  Her dad didn’t waste any time. “I hear you’re unemployed and homeless.”

  Ben smiled inwardly, glad Megan had warned him of her subterfuge. “I’m on leave for a month before I return to San Diego to prep for my next deployment.”

  “I see.” Mr. Shuttlekrump nodded, shooting a raised eyebrow at Megan, who widened her eyes, but didn’t look at all innocent. “You’re stationed in San Diego. You’re in the Navy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what is it you do there?”

  “I’m a pilot.”

  Mr. Shuttlekrump made a “come on” motion with his hand, indicating he’d appreciate more details without having to drag them out of Ben. The problem was, Ben was about out of words. And the room was filling up. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. A bead of sweat rolled down his back.

  The other brother came in and crossed his arms over his chest, listening.

  Ben swallowed, and said, “I fly the F/A-18E Boeing Super Hornet from the Nimitz.”

  “That’s a fighter jet,” someone said.

  The brother snorted. “Well, yeah, that would be fast and loud.”

  “That’s so cool!”

  The walls of the tiny kitchen crept inward.

  Ben didn’t like being the center of attention under most circumstances, much less ones like this, where he was playing the part of a smitten newlywed and trying to impress her family. A role for which he’d never rehearsed or even read the script. For better or worse, he was the one who’d made the announcement to her brother that morning, so he’d suck it up and submit to the inquisition. He would not burst out of the room like the insecure nerd who was supposed to transform into the Incredible Hulk. Although if he could do that, it would be pretty cool.

  Ben’s brief fantasy was interrupted by more questions.

  “And you met Megan for the first time last night?” This was another brother-in-law.

  Ben smiled at Megan. “The time’s gone by so fast, it feels like we’ve known each other forever, doesn’t it?”

  The brother-in-law snorted. “The Megan I’ve known forever can’t decide on a movie that fast.”

  “Well,” Megan retorted, “when you know it’s right, you just know.”

  Ben nodded. “You do.” Below the table, her hand slid over his, and miraculously, the air in the room got a little more breathable. He curled his fingers around hers.

  Mrs. Shuttlekrump turned from stirring a bubbling pot of something on the stove. “When Paul called to tell us he had some very interesting news about Megan this morning, I never could have guessed it was that she’d gotten married. No, I was afraid he was going to tell us she had run away to join another circus, quit the business altogether, or was pregna
nt or something.”

  …

  “Pregnant? Mom, that’s ridiculous!”

  Megan heard Ben’s laughter ring as falsely as her own, but the pretense, thank goodness, didn’t seem to raise any alarm bells with her parents. Her sister gave her the side-eye, but Beth was always suspicious.

  “Seriously, can you imagine?” Craig chuckled, “Our Meggie, preggie?”

  Ben squeezed her hand, which kept her normal defensiveness from thrusting out its bottom lip.

  “I think the food’s ready,” Mom announced, and everyone stopped staring at Megan and Ben in order to line up and carry something to the back patio, where they ate 90 percent of their family meals. The family dining room had been cramped when it had just been the six original Shuttlekrumps—the addition of significant others and offspring made it difficult to breathe, much less swallow inside.

  The problem, Megan realized, when she and Ben had each carried a basket of garlic bread outside, was that she’d been sitting at the kiddie table for so long there wasn’t any room for her at the adult table—and that meant that there was definitely not room for both Ben and her. She looked at the kids, who stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to sit and start the fun. Aunt Meg was great at dinnertime because she let them get away with being gross, as long as Grandma wasn’t paying attention.

  “There’s an extra seat for Ben over here, Aunt Meg.” Harry, who’d thawed from icy distrust to a puddle of adoration when he learned Ben was a fighter pilot, dragged an extra low-slung folding beach chair to the mismatched array of Little Tikes furniture at the far end of the patio.

  “Well—” She glanced around, wondering if Ben was ready to run screaming for the hills. He seemed a bit tense.

  Tense, but willing to play nice so far. “Great. Thanks, buddy.” Ben lowered himself into the chair and put his bowl of garlic bread on the table. The kids dived in with glee, and Ben grabbed, too. “Hey, save some for me!”

  If Megan wasn’t already an emotional basket case, what with the hangover, lack of sleep, and panic about being married and possibly pregnant, she might be tempted to knock Harry out of the way so she could curl up at Ben’s knee and proclaim her undying love. She’d gotten the impression that he wasn’t too thrilled to be there when they were inside talking to the adults, but he seemed to be perfectly happy to be wrestling the kids for garlic bread. And the kids thought he was the shit.