Clay swung his arms behind his back and held the stretch. My, Leah was beautiful, more beautiful than the year before, and more than the photograph he’d cherished.

He flexed his arms like football goalposts, pushing back over and over to strengthen his back. Why hadn’t he told her she was beautiful at the depot? Instead he’d said, “Well,” and pecked her cheek like a deranged chicken.

He thrust his fists in front of him and pulled back and forth as if rowing a boat. Last night he’d avoided talking about love and marriage. She’d approved of his plans for the future but hadn’t said whether she wanted to be a part of them.

Clay reached his left arm overhead and leaned to the right. Why would she say anything? He’d asked in a general way, requesting her opinion on his plans. No wonder she’d looked confused. He should have been direct and clear.

Clay reversed the stretch—the painful side, pulling the scar tissue. The rest of the evening, they’d talked about his reunion with his brothers and she’d shown him the articles and photographs of her family—even her birth certificate.

He grabbed his left elbow and drew it across his chest, then repeated on the right. All of the conversation had been great, but in a friendly, brotherly-sisterly way.

Today. Today he’d tell her how he felt and ask her to give him a chance.

He rubbed his scruffy face. Not looking like a grizzly bear, he wouldn’t.

Clay grabbed his toiletry kit and uniform and went into the bathroom. Soon he came out, showered, shaven, and dressed in his khaki shirt and trousers.

Now the smell of eggs and fried potatoes climbed above the smell of chili.

Leah stood at the sink, scrubbing a pan, an apron tied over a short-sleeved dress in a golden color. Her hair was down, and all he wanted to do was brush those curls aside and kiss her slender neck.

He pulled himself together. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Leah smiled over her shoulder. “Let me get your breakfast.”

“Thank you.” He could get used to this. Helen was propped up in the high chair, chewing on a zwieback biscuit, and he ruffled her short black curls. “Good morning to you too, missy.”

She smiled around that biscuit.

Leah brought him a plate of scrambled eggs and potatoes.

“You look nice today.” Oh, he had to do better than that. “Very pretty.”

“Thanks.” She shot him a quick smile. “I need to leave soon, but please take your time over breakfast and make yourself at home.”

“You have plans?” He scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, fluffy and perfectly salted.