The Things We Leave Unfinished by Yarros, Rebecca (best free e reader .TXT) 📗

women’s barracks—the Brits called them huts. The entire station was still under construction, but at least these were done.

The girls climbed out before he could open their door, which didn’t surprise him. The English girls he’d met since landing in country had learned to do a lot for themselves in the last year the UK had been at war.

He took their bags from the trunk but held on to Scarlett’s as she reached for it.

Their fingers brushed.

His heart jolted.

She startled but didn’t pull back.

“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked before he lost the nerve, which wasn’t something he’d particularly had to worry about lately, but something about Scarlett had him tongue-tied.

Her eyes flared wide, and her cheeks flushed with heat. “Oh. Well…” Her gaze darted toward her sister, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smile.

Scarlett didn’t let go of her luggage. Neither did he.

…

“Is that a yes?” he asked with a grin that just about took her knees out of service.

Trouble. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to avoid it.

“Stanton!” another pilot called out as he walked over with Mary tucked beneath his arm and her lipstick smudging his face. At least that question was answered.

Mary gasped, then cringed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry! I knew I was forgetting something today!”

“Don’t worry about it. Seems to have worked out for everyone involved,” Constance responded with a cheeky little smile, her engagement ring winking in the sun.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes at her sister before a tiny tug reminded her that she still stood on the pavement with her luggage suspended between herself and Jameson. What kind of name was Jameson, anyway? Did he prefer it to James? Jamie, perhaps?

“I’m glad to see you, Stanton. Can I catch a ride with you to the flight line?” the other pilot asked as he disengaged from Mary.

“Sure. As soon as she answers the question.” Jameson looked her dead in the eye.

A nagging little feeling told her that he’d always be this forthright. It also told her not to let go.

“Scarlett,” Constance urged.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” Had he asked another while she was distracted by staring? Her cheeks caught fire.

“Will you please let me take you to dinner?” Jameson asked again. “Not tonight, since I’ll be flying. But some night this week?”

Her lips parted. She hadn’t agreed to a date since the war began.

“I’m quite sorry, but I don’t see men like you socially,” she managed to croak out.

Constance let loose a sigh of frustration strong enough to change the weather.

“Men like me?” Jameson questioned with a tease in his tone. “Americans?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. “I mean, not that I’ve ever been asked by an American, naturally.”

“Naturally.” And that grin was back, wobbling her knees again. He really was too handsome for his own good.

“I mean pilots.” She nodded toward the wings on his uniform. “I don’t see pilots.” Out of every job in the Royal Air Force, pilots were the most nomadic in regard to where they slept, and geography wasn’t the least of it. They also had a tendency to die with a frequency she couldn’t stomach.

“Shame.” He clicked his tongue.

She tugged on her luggage, and he released it.

“It is most assuredly my loss,” she professed, the words ringing true in her own ears. She shouldn’t go. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to. Longing resonated through her like a church bell, hitting hard and loud, only to come again in softer echoes the longer she stood there looking up at him.

Was every American as handsome as he was? Surely not.

“No, I mean it’s a shame that I’ll have to resign. I do love to fly.” A corner of Jameson’s mouth quirked a little higher. “Wonder if they need more officers over at Sector Command?”

The other pilot scoffed. “Stop flirting—we’re going to be late.”

Scarlett arched a singular eyebrow at Jameson.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he asked again, this time softer.

“Stanton, we really have to go. We’re already late.”

“Give me a second here, Donaldson. Come on, Scarlett, live a little.” Those eyes of his stayed locked on hers, unraveling her defenses.

“You really are insistent,” she accused, straightening her spine.

“It’s one of my finer qualities.”

“It hardly argues that I should acquaint myself with your less-than-finer ones,” she muttered.

“You’ll like those, too.” He winked.

Oh, lord. That single action nearly wiped out any and all reasoning she had left. She snapped her mouth shut to keep from sputtering and prayed the flaming heat in her cheeks didn’t give her away. “You’re honestly going to stand there until I agree to go to dinner with you?”

He seemed to ponder that for a second, and she fought the urge to lean closer to him. “Well, you’re still standing here, too, so I figure you might actually want to have dinner with me.”

She did, damn him. She wanted to see him smile again, but she might not survive that little wink twice.

“Stanton!” Donaldson shouted.

Jameson watched her like she was a play and he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

“Well, if you’re not, then fine, I’ll go—” Constance started, stepping forward and jarring Scarlett out of her staring contest.

“I’ll go to dinner with you,” Scarlett blurted, mentally cursing her sister’s gleeful little smirk.

“Are you going to make me turn in my wings first?” He smiled, and her stomach filled with another zing of electricity.

“Would you?” she challenged.

His head tilted to the side. “If it got me a dinner with you…I just might.”

“Stanton, get in the bloody car!”

“You’d better go,” she urged, stifling a grin.

“For now,” he agreed, his eyes dancing as he backed away. “But I’ll be seeing you, Scarlett.” He flashed her another smile and disappeared into the car.

They pulled away a heartbeat later, vanishing down the road toward the airfield.

“Thank you for the help, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at Constance as they headed into the hut.

“You’re quite welcome,” Constance answered unabashedly.

“You’re supposed to be the shy one, remember?”

“Well, it had appeared that you