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

of three men, standing by the exit. The tallest of them had his back to me, but I knew the set of those shoulders, that deliberate, thoughtful nod. Heat roared into my body, and I started to shake.

It couldn’t be, could it?

I began to move, every fibre of my being straining toward the dark, uniformed figure in the doorway. Step by step, I squeezed through the crowd, thinking twenty feet had never seemed so far before. Then all at once I stood behind him, close enough to touch. Frozen, I listened to the sound of his voice, and though it was more subdued than I’d ever heard it before, it was as familiar to me as my own.

One of the others had asked him a question, and he’d shrugged. “Nah, I didn’t have much time before this…”

Then he trailed off, straightening slightly, as if he sensed me standing behind him. When he turned, I could only stare, filling my eyes and heart with the sight of him.

“Max,” I breathed.

His jaw dropped. “Molly?”

Before I could think, I threw my arms around his neck, embracing the solid proof of him, breathing in his scent, feeling relief take hold of my entire body as his coat absorbed my tears. The bones of his shoulders were hard against my hands, no longer young and muscled, too weak to catch me or lift me as they once had, but still there. Still alive.

He didn’t move at first, then I felt him relax slightly, and his arms wrapped around me. After a moment, I drew back, needing to look at him. To really see him.

“You’re alive,” I whispered, noting with sadness how the light in his deep brown eyes had faded. His skin was dull, his jawbone pronounced within his angular face, and strands of grey flickered within his dark hair. All those years and more were etched into his face. While we had carried on with our lives, he had been locked up in a cage. He’d been mourned and never forgotten, but he’d been left behind by everyone he loved.

“Molly,” he said again, and I swayed at the sound. Confusion and pain flickered across his face, and I felt it everywhere inside me. “What are you doing here?”

It was so hard to breathe. To think. “I’m… I’m working. I’m—”

“Ah! There you are.” From somewhere behind me, Ian appeared and held out a hand. “Ian Collins, the Star.”

Max shook his hand, but his dark eyes were still on me.

Ian turned, taking in my tears, and his face filled with concern. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, handing me his handkerchief. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I took a deep, shaky breath. “Ian,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to smile, “this is Max Dreyfus. Hannah’s brother. I haven’t seen him in—”

“About twelve years,” Max finished for me.

twenty-three MAX

Max hardly noticed the newcomer to the conversation. He couldn’t take his eyes off Molly. Her hair was mussed from the ferocity of her hug, and her face was blotchy from crying, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Hannah’s brother? That Max? Whoa,” the other man was saying. What was his name? Ian? Max turned reluctantly toward him. “Welcome back from the dead, sir. We sure had it wrong, didn’t we, Molly? What a coincidence, for you two to run into each other here, of all places.”

“I had no idea,” she whispered. “We all thought… What about your parents? Do they know you’re here?”

He nodded, taking in the freckles that dotted her nose, still not quite believing that she was standing in front of him. He tried to concentrate on her question. “I got back today. I cleaned up at their house, then my captain dragged me here.”

“Today!” Ian exclaimed. “You must be exhausted.”

He lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “I’ve been exhausted for years. What’s one more night?”

“I’m surprised your parents let you go.” Her hypnotic green eyes held him like a lifeline. All those years of trying to forget, and he still felt exactly the same way about her. “They must be so happy. Does Hannah know?”

“She wasn’t there, but Mama will call her. They’ll all be there tonight after this, I expect.” The thought sent a skitter of anxiety through him. He might be here to speak with the press, but he wasn’t prepared to answer his family’s questions.

She reached out her hand, as if to check that he was really there, then thought better of it. Her fingers brushed his arm, and his skin danced with nerves.

“God, I’m happy you’re home.”

“She was a mess for months,” Ian said. “The folks at the Red Cross and the war office know her well. She was determined to find you and all the others. She didn’t give up for a long time.”

He remembered that, how she never gave up when she had something on her mind. He remembered everything about her.

“Yeah. We found out on the way back here that I didn’t make the Red Cross list,” Max said. “Frankly, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference on my end. Hardly anyone got letters in the camps, but I guess it would have been a big help to you.”

“We thought you’d been killed. But nobody would tell us anything. It didn’t make sense,” Molly said. “After we heard about Richie, I knew you had to be there somewhere.”

Max dropped his chin, eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry about Richie, Moll.” She had no idea how sorry. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to tell her the full story.

Ian had been watching intently, and now he turned to Molly. “Say, I have an idea. Stop me if I’m wrong, but we came here to interview POWs, and it looks to me like you two would like to talk. Maybe we could cover both.”

She frowned at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“An in-depth interview.” He focused on Max. “You and Molly can talk, and I can take notes. We