An excerpt from letters to laura

I'll be releasing my 1950s novella, Letters to Laura, in January (unless anything changes), and I recently shared the cover. Now, i want to share a brief excerpt, and I welcome your feedback! 

​Laura squeezed his hands.  “Don’t make me come after you.”
He smiled crookedly.  “I don’t think you could get across enemy lines.”
She shook her head almost violently.  “I would do whatever it took to find you.”
His eyes glistened.  “You know, I really do believe that, but for now,” he leaned in and kissed her once, twice, “all you have to do is think of me.  That’ll be enough to make sure that bus brings me back in one piece.”
Laura sucked in a sharp breath.  “Don’t talk like that, Mark.”  She clung to him, desperation making her knees weak.  “I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.  I don’t want to imagine it.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck just as a whistle sounded behind them. 
“That’s my call,” he whispered in her ear.
She didn’t release him.  “Remember that I love you.”
He caressed her back through the thin material of her white blouse.  “That’s not something I could forget.”  He pulled back, loosening her arms from around his neck.  “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” 
He looked deeply into her eyes, and Laura knew he was memorizing her face.  Hopefully, the memory would carry him through the dark days ahead.  She doubted the mere recall of his touch would suffice for her. 
Their lips met again, this time more intensely, and heart beat against heart.
With trembling fingers, she tucked a folded piece of paper into the front pocket of his shirt. He looked down as she patted the material. “What’s this?”
“Just something to read later.”
“Hey, buddy.  You need to get on board, or this bus is leaving without you,” the driver shouted.
With a reluctance Laura parroted, Mark stepped back away from her, his hand still holding hers.  “I’ll write.”
She didn’t trust her voice to speak so she nodded again, holding onto the last piece of him as he backed toward the bus. He stopped when only their fingertips touched.
“I love you, Laura Madison. Never doubt that.”
When his hand fell away, tears filled her eyes, clouding her vision. She didn’t see him climb onto the bus or make his way to his seat. But he lowered the window quickly and called her name again.
She raced toward the window and held up her hand. He touched her fingers again as the engine revved, and the bus began to chug forward. She stood in the same spot, hand raised, watching the dingy white bus roll away from the curb, kicking up dirt before it rumbled out of sight.  And the sun had set low in the sky before she finally turned and walked home.