Max's pulse thudded in his ears. "I can't do that." Emily had no idea what she was asking of him.

"Oh." Her soft grey eyes fell to the shiny metal of the table between them. "You have plans, then?"

He most certainly did not have plans for his time off. In a few days, he'd be expected to leave the base for eight weeks and until five minutes ago, his only option was to return to Wisconsin and stay with his sister. He'd rather chew his arm off. Not that he didn't love his sister. She was the one good thing about visiting Balder, the one-stop-sign town he'd been born and raised in. But she lived across the street from the one man he couldn't survive two minutes with, never mind two months with. His father. Gale Anders.

"No. I..." Max searched the café for an excuse, something to let Emily down gently with, deny her request. His gaze landed on Sophie, who was chewing on the edge of her thumb as Mary inspected a pink box. How did she manage to make that minute movement look sexy? Damn, it had been way too long, just him, his hand, and memories of their night together if this was turning him on.

"Max." Cool fingers on his skin tore his attention away from the counter and back to Emily. "I need your help. I don't know what else to do. I've tried to get him to talk to me, but with the baby coming and my condition—" she rolled her eyes—"he refuses. Says he doesn't want to stress me out. But something is wrong."

Max's heart bled at the concern marring Emily's pretty face. She did seem paler than he'd last seen her. But maybe that was the cold weather. Aside from the baby bump, she hadn't gained any weight. Max knew people said women glowed when they were pregnant, but he'd always thought Emily was stunning. Now she reminded him of the Madonna. Not that he was a religious man. Faith had done nothing for him. But he spent his fair share of Christmas Eves in church, staring at the Virgin Mary. Emily was the icon come to life.

A flush of heat crawled up his neck at the nerve of him to inspect his commander's wife. "I'm not good at this stuff."

"You don't have to be good. Just be there for him." She squeezed his fingers. "He'll talk to you. I admit, I'm a little jealous of all the hours you spend online together these days." Max maintained a calm exterior despite his confusion. When he last spoke to Finn, they'd only talked for twenty minutes, and that was over a week ago. A trickle of concern slid down his back. Was Finn lying to his wife? The instinct to protect his mentor stirred.

"The thing is—" Emily continued "—you understand what he's going through. You were there."

Of course, he was there. The accident was his fault. The back of his wrist itched, and he stuffed his free hand in his pocket not to scratch. Maybe the official report was a computer malfunction that brought down the helicopter, but he knew better. Bug had paid the price for his selfishness. Now apparently Finn was paying for it as well. Everyone he loved fell down under his curse.

Sunlight reflected off the tabletop and momentarily blinded Max. After the splotches of colour dissipated, Sophie sat beside him again.

"Can you at least come for Thanksgiving?" Emily pleaded. "Spend the weekend with us. See for yourself." He started to shake his head. "Sophie's cooking, and she makes the best pumpkin pies on the eastern seaboard."

Max avoided the urge to look at Sophie, see a repeat of the disappointment he'd seen in her eyes when he walked into the café earlier. Or worse. He didn't need to be told twice. No matter how much he wanted a repeat of their night together, apparently Sophie regretted the decision to sleep with him. He'd hoped the ghosting the morning after had been because of an obligation, not disappointment. The evidence before him proved he wasn't up to this beautiful woman's standards. To him their night together stood out like a comet streaking across the darkness of his life.

Mary opened the pink box and withdrew a dark brown square. "Her stuffing is out of this world. I don't know why she only makes it once a year."

"Because then it wouldn't be special." Sophie snatched a corner off of Mary's brownie and popped the morsel into her mouth. His throat became a desert. He'd hoped one day to kiss those lips again, taste her sweetness. Hoped for this exact situation, a repeated invite to the lake house for a get together where Sophie might be in attendance. Maybe talk to her, convince her to give him another chance.

"But once is never enough." The skin around Mary's eyes crinkled as they batted between him and Sophie. His neck prickled, and he gripped the soft cotton of the lining of his pant pockets. Had Sophie told Mary about their night together? She licked a spot on her lips. "Don't you think Sophie?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sophie mouth something at Mary. He startled when she turned to him. "You should come for Thanksgiving." She wiped her fingers on a napkin. "If you don't have other plans."

There was that word again. Plans. Everyone had plans but him. For Thanksgiving. For the future. Finn with a baby on the way, Campbell with his impending promotion taking him out of the field. He didn't even know where he'd be sleeping in a week's time.

Max couldn't quite meet her eyes, focusing on the tiny crumb nestled in the corner of her mouth. "I'm free." The crumb sank into the curve of her brief smile. A trickle of desire jolted up his spine at the tiny movement, lost in the meaning of the expression. Was she happy he'd be there, or was she only being polite?

"Great. That means even numbers at the table." Mary took a sip of her coffee.

"Really, Max. Thank you for doing this." Emily snagged his attention again and the reality of what he'd just agreed to came rushing back in like a tidal wave. He opened his mouth to backtrack, but no excuse came out. Despite the true task Emily needed him for, a day with Sophie was worth the sacrifice.

After bidding the ladies goodbye, Max jaunted back to base. He was supposed to be completing paperwork this afternoon, and his commander would have his ass if he was late. Before he hit the gates, his phone buzzed.

"Can you talk?"

His sister always asked this instead of hello, like she thought he was a spy out on a mission, and she was interrupting tense negotiations. He'd explained a few times that if he was in the middle of Navy business, he wouldn't even be able to pick up, but Wanda never retained that fact. "I'm good. How are you?"

"It's snowing here. Can you believe it? Seems too early."

A man shouted in the background and Max's spine slammed straight. "Is that dad?"

"Oh yeah. Cole came home from work early because of the snow." Max had only met Cole twice before his sister's wedding. Her husband seemed like a decent guy and he had the added bonus of meeting the high standards of their father. "I shoved beers in their hands and pointed them in the direction of the living room. Can't deal with dad today."

"What's he up to now?" Max handed the guard at the gate his pass. He could hear the familiar squeak of the pantry door in his sister's kitchen. Whenever she needed privacy, she'd slip into the tiny room and barricade herself against the rest of the house and the surrounding chaos.

"The usual. Wants to go back to work. Everyone at the plant is a moron and they can't survive without him." Gale Anders had been a foreman at Tanker Printing's warehouse for over forty years, working his way up from man on the line to man in charge. Not quite making management, but he had the respect of those under him. As the plant modernized, older employees with expensive benefits and pension plans were pushed into early retirement and his father had been one of the last to leave. Since then, he'd tried to organize his family's lives like he had the men and women on the machinery floor. "We have to get him a hobby or mom will murder him in his sleep."

"At least she'd get away with it." A retired principle, his mother was the smartest woman he knew. He'd witnessed her negotiate with countless terrorist aka warring teenagers and their helicopter parents to come to a peaceful ending. Growing up, she'd encouraged her children to make the most of their small town education. Wanda had listened, walking across the graduation stage with honours. Not smart like the women in his life, Max had tried a different path to success. And failed.

"I was thinking we could talk to him at Thanksgiving. Maybe convince him to join the Rotary Club or something. Get him out of the house. Give mom a break."

Max winced. He was always letting someone down. "I'm not coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Oh." Disappointment crackled over the line.

"My ex-commander, Finn... ah, he's having a bit of a rough time." Layers of guilt weighed down each step toward the administration building. "His wife asked if I'd stay with them for a bit."

There was a pause, and Max searched the sky. Clouds were rolling in, threatening to spoil the sunny day. When his sister spoke, her voice was quiet. Too quiet. "For how long?"

"I'm not sure. Might be a few weeks."

"But you'll be home for Christmas, right?"

Max scratched the side of his neck. "How could I not?" The question hung in the air like a parachuter that had just deployed.

"We miss you Max." Wanda's voice was gentle, like a kitten's paw. "All of us."

The urge to protest pushed at the back of his throat. His sister was being kind. After the accident that ended his baseball career before it got started, his father's attitude toward his only son had transformed from proud to dissatisfied. Leaving town had solved the problem of his father having his son's disappointment shoved in his face every day. The whole town had made it clear Max wasn't wanted. The choice to leave was easy. Almost as easy as the choice not to go back. To stay in the Navy. To face whatever was going on with Finn in Bridgetown. To spend time with Sophie.

Max held the door to the administration building open for a fellow private. "I miss you, too. Listen, I gotta go. Give mom my love."

He hung up and entered the building. Usually, he dreaded paperwork, but today he appreciated the distraction. Not knowing, which was worse, disappointing his sister or failing Finn.