Sailor Walters nestled into her favorite wicker chair on the roof of her high-rise apartment with her morning cup of joe. After pulling a double shift the night before, she needed to relax in the peace and tranquility the rooftop observation area afforded.

This time of year it was the only quiet place in the city. The shopping malls were jammed with bargain hunters scooping up holiday sales. Traffic was dreadful, and Senorita Lita’s, the restaurant she’d inherited from her uncle, was a revolving door to both holiday patrons and families visiting the military base.

Sailor sipped her steaming black coffee before wisping her hair into a messy ponytail using the rubber band she’d had around her wrist. She removed her sunglasses and peered into her spotting scope. After making a few twists for focal adjustments, the ocean came into view. Brightly colored sailboats glided near the beach, and the marina was full of yachts and vessels coming and going. The parking decks nearby were stacked with police and rescue vehicles, as well as civilian cars and trucks.

The backdrop of the swirling white clouds and robin egg blue sky was welcome as she eased into her chair and enjoyed a serene moment. She thumbed through her smart phone, perusing the local headlines. A scrolling message interrupted her serenity. USS CURTIS Returns Home After Seven-Month Deployment.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed for no one to hear but the pigeons. She stood and tightened her grasp on the miniature telescope.

She switched directions to view the port she tried so hard to avoid. Curiosity won as she zeroed in on the tugboats circling several hundred yards offshore. Red, white, and blue striped flags waved majestically in the ocean breeze.

Onboard, sailors dressed crisply in white, manned the rails of a missile cruiser coming in from deployment. The sight had Sailor forgetting how to breathe, as she intently swept the lens down the length of the ship, witnessing an event that hundreds of families prayed for. The massive ship carried two hundred military men and women returning home to the waiting arms of their friends and families, just in time for Christmas.

Sailor grabbed her cell and dialed the restaurant. “Manuel…sí. I’ll be there in twenty. Make sure the patio is open, por favor. We’re gonna need it.”

Back in her apartment, there wasn’t a strand of white lights to be found. The entire place was void of any sign of Christmas. There were no neatly wrapped presents tied with pretty bows under a tree. Not even a sprig of mistletoe. A stack of unopened greeting cards lay upon the kitchen table. They had been piling up since just after Thanksgiving.

She padded from one room to the next, tossing items across the couch as she sifted through the clean, yet unfolded, basket of clothes. Discovering her black lacy bra, she frowned while adjusting it, remembering the last time she’d worn it was months ago when she and Gene broke up.

She had wanted to surprise him by wearing sexy new lingerie after a candlelit dinner on the roof. Instead of a nightcap and an evening of hot sex as they’d normally had, he tugged her shirt closed, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered that he’d found someone new. Suffice it to say, Sailor hadn’t taken the news well, but knowing her troubled past, he dropped the charges.

Shrugging that it was the only clean item, she tugged on her bright pink three-button polo with the Senorita Lita’s logo stitched above a breast and headed for the door.

* * * * *

José Feliciano’s voice greeted Sailor as the lyrics to Feliz Navidad filled the air from the overhead speakers. She walked through the back doors to the restaurant and headed for her office.

“Hola, Manuel,” she said to her head chef. “How bad are we hit?”

“We down three lady. All got amigos coming in from the ship.” Manuel paused from chopping onions and tomatoes for his famous Lita’s Loco Salsa. He and Sailor’s uncle, Sam, had opened Senorita Lita’s fifteen years ago as a joint business venture. The salsa was what made Lita’s stand out on the strip of Mexican restaurants that lined the freeway near the bay. Competition was fierce in this community located within spitting distance of the Mexican border.

Sam died last year of a heart attack and left the restaurant to Sailor, his only living relative. Although Sam had bought Manuel out a few years ago, the chef agreed to stick around on a part-time basis to help Sailor keep the restaurant going until she could handle it herself.

Sailor sighed. “It’s okay. We’ll manage.” She walked over and patted him on the shoulder, the pungent odor of fresh onions burning her eyes. “Do you have enough help back here? Looks like I’ll be serving again tonight.”

The fact that it was a Saturday before a major holiday, coupled with the arrival of a ship full of navy personnel, made Sailor’s predicament worse. After checking the schedule in her office, she noted that three of her best servers scheduled to work this evening had family or close friends coming into port. Sailor didn’t begrudge them at all; she encouraged the time off. Having grown up a military child herself, she knew exactly what it was like to breathe a sigh of relief when a loved one returned home. She also knew full well the looming of an invisible clock ticking away the seconds to another deployment.

Shortly after ten-thirty, a half hour before the restaurant was scheduled to open, Sailor rallied her staff in the rear of the kitchen for a pep talk. “Listen guys,” she said confidently as she scanned the crossed arms, multi-colored bandanas, and exposed shoulders of her kitchen crew. “We’re going to be twice as busy as we were last night. There’s a line of folks already mingling around the front waiting to get in.”

One of the cooks dabbed sweat beads from his neck with a kitchen towel he had slung over his shoulder. She smiled when he immediately washed his hands and grabbed a clean towel. Senorita Lita’s was top notch when it came to health department standards. Sailor didn’t take that reputation lightly, and her staff knew it.

“We’re down three servers, but that’s okay, I’m pitching in. If anyone asks to speak to the owner, I’ll be out there on the front lines buzzing around and available to whomever needs me.”

She turned her attention to her wait staff. “Ladies, I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes because we’ll be on our feet all day. Take breaks when you can. Flag me down or come back here and grab Manuel if anyone gets rowdy.”

The average age of her female servers was mid-twenties. The ladies were physically fit, with sun-kissed skin and hair, and curves that generously filled the uniform tank top that read, Dip your chip in Senorita Lita’s salsa! The slogan sometimes garnered remarks from patrons that made the women uncomfortable. Most of the servers were from out of state, attending the university, or somehow tied to the military, whether it be married to a military man or the daughter of one.

The staff dismissed, they busied themselves prepping their stations for the coming rush.

Shortly before eleven o’clock, Sailor opened the restaurant doors and rear patio to the crowd of hungry people milling around on the sidewalk. A sea of balloons, flowers, and sailors dressed in choker whites with duffle bags slung across their backs flowed in. Many of them juggled children in both arms. Some had kids hoisted upon a shoulder. Parents, grandparents, and women with puffy eyes and mascara smears mingled within the crowd of our nations heroes.

Sailor greeted her guests, holding back the tears and a sizeable lump in her throat as she witnessed the reunions. A little girl in a frilly pink dress hugged her father as he asked the hostess for a table for five. Her sandy blonde pigtails and rosy cheeks reminded Sailor of herself at that age. Her mother used to dress her up in her Sunday’s best to wait for her daddy to arrive home from a tour of duty at sea. Sailor remembered how her father used to scoop her into his arms and give her a princess twirl.

Her heart thundered in her ears, blocking the crowd chatter and Christmas music that played within the restaurant.

By mid afternoon the steady flow of customers eased enough for two of her servers to rest and eat their lunch. Sailor took over for the bartender and busied herself with wiping down countertops and washing beer mugs. Husky male voices and laughter warmed her as she stooped beneath the counter to assess the liquor inventory.

“Excuse me, Miss. Can I get a couple of longnecks for my buddies here?”

Sailor paused in her crouched position, grasping the shelf for balance. Is that…? It couldn’t be…

Hesitantly, she eased to counter level, reading the name on the pin on his breast just above a cluster of medals, before adjusting her gaze to meet a pair of whiskey-colored eyes.

“Caleb…” The sight of a man in uniform always had Sailor’s heart fluttering and typically tongue-tied. Caleb Gannon was no exception.

“Sailor girl.” He reached across the bar and tucked a curly strand of hair behind her ear. She squinted her eyes, wet with fresh tears of excitement, at the use of his endearment.

“Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it. Never have.”

He jumped the bar and lifted her in a hug. Through the heavy camouflage jacket, she felt ripples of toned muscles tightening against her arms. He skimmed her cheek with a slight stubble that had grown back since the morning shave, and pecked her on the lips before setting her feet back on the floor.

“Welcome home. I didn’t know you were due back. How have you been?” she asked, more breathless than she wanted.

“What? You’re not keeping tabs on me?” He winked, daring her to differ.

“For your information, Caleb Gannon, I don’t. As you can see, I’m busy here. Welcome home all of you.” She quickly smiled at his companions. “And thank you for your service.” She adjusted her rumpled polo shirt and tightened her ponytail.

He removed his cap, his hair no longer than his facial stubble. “Why so formal, honey?” He strutted back around the bar to join the two chiefs who accompanied him. “Fellas, this is Sailor, my ex-girlfriend.”