Letters From Home Read Online Free Page A

Weather.” A melody of her past, towed through every dramatic measure.
    “This tune”—Morgan gestured toward the band—“reminds me of my mom. Sang it around the house all the time.”
    “Really?” Liz remarked at the coincidence. She tried to think of how many times she’d heard the original playing behind her mother’s locked bedroom door. Must have been a thousand. Liz had every reason to hate the song, yet somehow it persisted as one of her favorites. “Mine liked it too,” was all she added.
    Eyes toward the singer, Morgan shook his head. A tender smile played on his lips. “Funny. She always made it sound so upbeat, I never noticed how sad the words are till now.”
    Liz listened to the lyrics, about gloom and misery, and realized she hadn’t either. She verged on volunteering as much, but the glow in his expression stole her focus. Before she knew it, her gaze sloped down his arms, leaving her to imagine how they would feel wrapped around her.
    When the tune ended, she jerked her eyes away, hoping he couldn’t actually read her mind. Then another ballad began, “At Last,” based on the opening bars. A horn sang soft and sultry and filled the silence between them. A silence that suddenly gaped for miles as he fidgeted in his chair. Staring in the other direction, he tapped his heel at quickstep tempo, as though antsy to reach the exit. She wanted to say something, yet nothing came to her. Their wordlessness dragged every second into a torturous crawl. Unsure of what to do, she peeked at her watch to verify time hadn’t stopped.
    “So, Liz,” he said finally, “would you mind if I, um, asked you to dance?”
    She was so relieved he had spoken it took her a moment to weigh his invitation.
    It was a slow number.
    She should decline.
    Then again, he was leaving tomorrow.
    “Sure—I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind.”
    They rose and walked to the edge of the dance floor. As she slipped her hand into his, unfamiliar nerves rippled up her sides. His other hand cupped the small of her back and drew her close. She fought the trickle of a chill on her neck, willed moisture into her mouth gone dry.
    This was a mistake, she warned herself. Still, she rested a palm on his broad shoulder, the starched fabric separating her from the skin beneath. At the shift of his muscles, the feel of his gaze, her heart pounded twice as fast as the beat. She didn’t take in a single lyric, yet everything about the song was perfect. It seemed the spiraling combination of notes was commanding her emotions to lead; her body to follow.
    She turned her head and closed her eyes. Vanilla, lemon, and cedar—the scent of his talc or aftershave was soft but masculine. The slight rasp of his chin brushed against her temple; a rush of warm breath passed by her cheek. She tightened her grip on his shoulder as subtly as she could. Cracking her eyelids, she noted goose bumps prickling her arms. She desperately hoped he didn’t notice the effect he had on her. Unless he felt the same.
    What was she thinking? They’d only just met. Sensible. She needed to be sensible.
    Then his hand adjusted on her back. His fingers moved up slightly, pulling her closer. Never before had she been so aware of being touched. The air enveloping them thickened, a dense cloud, smothering sensibility.
    She relaxed her neck, her shoulders, her rules. Unable, unwilling to stop herself, she angled toward his gaze. Her mind reached for his lips, and—
    “Watch it!” a stranger’s voice shrilled.
    Liz startled back to the room, and to the sailor falling straight into them. Morgan tried to slant her out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the man’s red drink. It splattered an S down the side of her dress.
    “Hey, I’m soor-ry,” the stocky guy slurred. He floundered off, rubbing his hairless head.
    “You okay?” Morgan touched her bare arm.
    Chills again. She pulled the damp portion of her dress from her legs. “I just need to clean up in the powder