She was a good girl after all and he supposed he should set anchor somewhere. He suggested a pizzeria. She suggested a café with a Paris theme. They decided on a bakery. They’d live up top. They’d be a family. But the discussion was monotone and terse and not the excited ramblings and dreams and shenanigans and schemes of lovers beginning a life. The fact was he was scared. He’d only ever known the life of a soldier. As an anaconda only knows the swamp. Twelve plus years. Baghdad. Kuwait. Kabul. But to trade in his rifle for an apron?