The Things We Leave Unfinished by Yarros, Rebecca (phonics reading books .txt) 📕

night, but waiting was better. The anticipation of it was killing him in the sweetest way imaginable.

“Did you?” Lord, that smile of hers nearly took him out at the knees.

“What do you say I take you home, Mrs. Stanton?” He held out his hand for hers.

“Mrs. Stanton,” Scarlett replied with a spark of joy in her eyes as her fingers brushed his.

“You sure as hell are.” Just hearing her say it sent his heart skyrocketing.

They made their farewells, and it was only a matter of minutes before Jameson parked one of the squadron cars in front of what was now their home.

He swept her off her feet, lifting her into his arms at the edge of the sidewalk. “You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” she replied, lacing her fingers behind his neck.

He kissed her softly, brushing his lips over hers as he walked them up the sidewalk, only lifting his head when they came to the steps.

“My trunk—” she started.

“I’ll get it later,” he promised. “I want you to see the house.” She’d been on watch when he’d found it yesterday. His stomach dipped. “It’s not what you’re used to.” He’d learned enough about her family to know this little place of theirs would probably fit in one of the Wrights’ dining rooms.

She kissed him in reply. “Unless you’re asking me to share it with eleven other women, it’s far better than anything I’ve had over the last year.”

“God, I love you.”

“Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughed, then somehow managed to unlock the door and push it open without dropping her as he carried her over the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Stanton,” he said as he set her feet on the floor.

Mrs. Stanton. He was never going to tire of saying it.

Scarlett’s gaze made a quick sweep of the interior. The house opened into a modest living room that, thankfully, had come furnished. A staircase divided the space, with the dining room to the right, including a small table and chairs, and the kitchen lay just beyond it to the back of the house.

“It’s lovely,” Scarlett said as she took it all in. “Quite perfect, really.” She ran her hand over the dining room table as she walked, and Jameson followed her into the kitchen.

She paled, her smile vanishing as her gaze jumped from the oven to the small table, and over the counters. Horror emanated from every line of her face.

“What’s wrong?” His stomach pitched. Was it missing something? Shit. He should have waited for something better.

She turned to face him, then met his gaze with wide eyes. “This might not be the most opportune time to tell you, but I can’t cook.”

He blinked. “You can’t cook,” he repeated slowly, just to be sure he’d heard her right.

She shook her head. “Not a thing. I’m sure I could figure out how to turn the stove on, but not much else.”

“Okay. But the kitchen is acceptable?” He tried to equate the angst in her eyes to her confession and came up short.

“Of course!” She nodded. “It’s lovely. I’m just not sure what to do with it. I never learned to cook at home, and it’s been the officers’ mess since then.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth.

The relief was so sharp and sweet that he couldn’t help but laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. “I’m not saying I can put on a five-course meal, but if I can fry up eggs and bacon over a campfire, I think I’ll be able to keep us fed while we figure it out.”

“If we could even get real eggs,” she muttered as her arms wrapped around his waist.

“Very true.” As a pilot, a diet of eggs and bacon bettered his chances of surviving a water landing and were shoved at him with such regularity that he’d nearly forgotten how rare they were.

“I’ve learned to press my own clothing over the last year, and do some wash, but not much else in the domestic sense of things,” she said into his chest. “I’m afraid you may have gotten a bad deal by marrying me.”

He tilted her chin and kissed her gently. “I got more than I could have dreamed of by marrying you. We’ll figure everything else out together.”

Together. Her chest ached with how much she loved him. “Show me the rest of the house.”

He took her hand and led her up the small staircase to the second floor. “The bathroom,” he said as he motioned through the open doorway to the functional space, then opened the door to the right of it. “The landlord called this a box room, but I’m not really sure what he meant, since it’s more of a rectangle.”

Scarlett laughed, taking in the smaller, vacant bedroom. “It’s just a second, smaller bedroom.” The space would only accommodate a single bed and dresser…or a crib. “It’s for a child…” Her voice trailed off.

Jameson’s eyes locked with hers, flaring slightly. “Do you want that? Children?”

Her heart stuttered. “I hadn’t…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “If you’re asking if I want children now, the answer is no. There are too many uncertainties at the moment, and they would be coming into a world where we couldn’t guarantee their safety.” Children had been evacuated from nearly every military target—including London—and just the thought of losing a child to a bombing raid was more than she could bear.

“I agree.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand reassuringly, but worry lined the space between his eyebrows.

She lifted her hand to his cheek. “But if you’re asking if I want your children someday, then my answer is emphatically yes.” There would be nothing better than a green-eyed little girl, or a boy with his smile when this was all said and done.

“After the war.” He tilted his head and kissed the center of her palm, sending a tingling jolt of pleasure down her