Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

blue wedge cap tilted off the side of his head, giving him a jaunty look that didn’t match the weariness in his eyes. He noticed me looking and took it off, crushing it between his hands.

“God, it’s good to see you,” I said, hugging him again.

“It’s good to b-b-be seen by you. There were times…” He left off, and I could tell he was embarrassed by his new stammer. I didn’t care about that, though the reason behind it worried me. I couldn’t stop staring at him, grinning like an idiot. It was strange to see his familiar face so changed by time and experience, but I could almost see the old him in the depths of his eyes, the tough little scrapper he’d once been.

“Let’s go in,” I blustered. “We can have a drink, and you can tell me when you got home. You’ve seen Mum and Dad already, I presume?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, I can’t stay here.”

I saw his pack at his feet. “I don’t understand. Did Mum and Dad—”

“I saw them. And Liam. I just can’t b-be here. Dad, he…” He shook his head.

I could imagine the scene: Jimmy blustering in with the usual chip on his shoulder, expecting Dad to knock it off. What Jimmy didn’t realize was that we’d all changed over the past few years, including Dad. He would have been overwhelmed with relief at the sight of his son back home, but that’s not how Jimmy would have seen it. I wished I’d been there to intervene.

“No, Jimmy. He wouldn’t—”

“Drop it, Molly. I just stopped here to say hi to you, then I’ll find a place.”

Ian cleared his throat. “You can stay with me.”

Jimmy eyed Ian, clearly suspicious. “Yeah? Just a night or two is all I need.”

“However long you need,” Ian said, filling me with warmth. What a good man.

After a moment, Jimmy picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Well, I appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Ian said. “You’re a hero. We all owe you our thanks.”

Jimmy’s expression hardened. “I’m no hero. Don’t call me that.”

I touched my brother’s arm, calming him.

His face squeezed briefly then returned to normal. “Sorry. I just… I’m no hero.”

“Okay. Whatever you say,” Ian replied. “You wanna go wait in the car? I’ll be right there.”

We watched him throw his pack in the back seat, then he opened the passenger door and slid inside to wait.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t know—”

“He’ll be okay. Just needs some time. I’ll watch him.” Then he took my hand, and he turned my ring gently between his thumb and finger. “So, before all this happened, I was thinking about something. Today’s VE Day. And now that Jimmy’s here, your brothers are home.”

I knew what he was going to say, but I wished he wouldn’t. My thoughts were on Jimmy. I was dying to run inside and find out from my parents what had happened. But he was waiting, expectation in his eyes.

“Yes, they are,” I replied.

“So that means we can finally get married.”

I smiled. I couldn’t argue when he was looking at me that way. “Let’s set a date.”

twenty-one MOLLY

By the time I got to work early the next morning, people were already crowding in the streets. I squeezed through them and into the building, then I headed to my desk, where Ian greeted me with a hot cup of coffee.

“How’s Jimmy?” I asked.

He shrugged. “He took a glass of whisky into the spare bedroom and disappeared. He was gone this morning. Overall, a pretty easy houseguest, I’d say.”

I tugged his collar so he’d come down for a kiss. “Thank you for doing that.”

“Anything to make you happy, Molly. You know that.”

“I’m so glad he’s back, safe and sound.”

He grimaced, knowing there was more to the story. “How did it go with your parents?”

“It was what I thought.” After he and Jimmy had left, I’d knocked on my parents’ closed door. They were quiet, and Mum’s eyes were red from crying. “He cut Dad down as soon as he stepped inside. Dad never knew what hit him. He’s devastated. Mum’s a wreck.”

He nodded. “That’s rough. Sorry you have to be in the middle of all that. But,” he said with a wink, “I have something that will put a smile on your face.” He pulled today’s Star from behind his back, folded open to my article.

“Page six!” I exclaimed. “That’s my best yet!”

“You have a way with words that most writers would kill for, you know that? The guys never stop telling me how my future bride’s going to keep me on my toes.”

“Well, if the writing doesn’t pan out, you do make a great coffee,” I teased.

He laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room. “Say,” he said, whispering conspiratorially, “how does August fourth sound? Is that enough time to plan?”

My phone rang, and Ian waited as I picked it up. It was a secretary at City Hall I’d been trying to reach a few days before, so my brain shifted to business mode, and I covered the mouthpiece with one hand.

“Can we talk later?” I whispered to Ian. “I have to take this.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Sure.”

The morning passed in a blur, then at noon, Ian brought me my coat and we headed to the cenotaph with most of the newsroom, waiting for a formal announcement by the mayor. As we neared the monument, Ian and I wound between the merrymakers, soaking in the pulsing excitement of the city. I had thought we’d left the office in plenty of time, but I was wrong, so we couldn’t get a spot at the front. I popped up on my toes to see what was happening, and when I put a hand on his arm to balance, he chuckled.

“You can’t see?” Ian asked, and I suddenly thought of that day long ago, leaning against Sir John A. Macdonald’s cold statue with Max. Oh, Max, I