Page 71 of The Librarian Spy

That kiss was never brought up again, but as Ava looked back on it, a fog of champagne and gaiety kept her from recalling exactly if he had leaned toward her...or she toward him. Regardless, neither of them mentioned it and the first week of January rolled by unceremoniously.

Ava received yet another copy of Combat from Otto, and this time there was no longer a coded message. The realization was met with a flutter of uncertainty. Had they given up or were they already rescued?

The two options were still puzzling her when she joined James the following morning to assume their usual rounds through Lisbon’s kiosks and bookstores.

The collar of his dark wool coat was flipped up to ward off the cool January morning, which was by no means comparable to the bone-deep chill of DC. Still, the cold air at her legs under her navy skirt made her miss the availability of stockings. She also was glad she had not gone with a refugiado hairstyle when the weather was hot, named after the short cropped hair en vogue in Europe when refugees fled their homes. Her long hair kept her neck warm, swept back from her face in an understated victory roll by her right part.

“What if I told you I come bearing good news?” He glanced about as they walked, his gaze forever sweeping the streets, vigilant even as she relaxed in her complacency.

Ava stopped walking, her heart daring to beat a little faster in anticipation of what he might say. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” He slid a charming grin her way that made her wonder again if it really was her who had kissed him at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve.

“I suppose it depends on what it is,” she answered cautiously, afraid to hope. Not when such a fragile thing was so easily crushed, especially when the stakes were so high.

He turned to her. “Britain is helping.”

“How?” she demanded. “When?”

“They made the decision a while ago and have plans underway. I haven’t been able to share the news until now.” He grimaced. “My apologies.”

She gasped a laughing cry of disbelief. “No apology at all necessary. This is incredible! How did you finally get an answer?”

He put his hands in his pockets. “I had to call in a few favors. Now I’m the one in debt, but the cost is worth it. I would do it again in a minute to see them safe.”

That was one of the many things she’d learned about James in all their time together. He genuinely did care about those trapped in Europe as they scrambled for safety. He never referred to them as refugees, but called them by their names, asking after their families and discussing details of their former jobs with them. In a world where they felt as though they’d shed the skins of their personality, he reminded them who they still were, that they mattered.

And while those interactions made the rounds of collecting newspapers that much longer for each table he stopped and chatted with, she didn’t mind a bit. In fact, she joined him, bringing her usual assortment of books and treats for the children.

“It is I who owes you,” Ava said. “I could never have done this without your help. Not only acquiring aid in transporting the mother and child here, but in figuring out the code.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” James protested. “I’m grateful for the outcome. However, once they arrive here in Lisbon, you’ll have your own obstacle to scale in getting them to America.”

She swallowed her trepidation and gave a firm nod. “I can do that.”

And she would.

Somehow.

The warm, velvety aroma of coffee drifted on a chilled breeze, reminding her that their beverages were probably waiting for them at the small café on the corner of Rossio Square. They visited so often at the same time every day that the owner had taken to setting the drinks for them at their usual table.

James must have had a similar thought and indicated she lead the way.

“Have you been to Sintra yet?” he asked abruptly.

She frowned and shook her head. “I confess, I haven’t even read much about it, aside from the palace being located there.”

“You cannot come to Portugal and never experience Sintra.” He paused by Alfonso’s kiosk and exchanged a greeting with the owner.

Once Ava had the stack of newsprint tucked in her messenger bag, all of which now fit neatly with a flap that closed without issue, thanks to James, they resumed their walk toward Rossio Square.

A car approached, and they both waited for it to pass before crossing the street. “I’m attending a dinner party at Monserrate Palace in two days and would be honored if you’d consider accompanying me,” James said.

The car zoomed past, the wind in its wake tugging at Ava’s skirt and ruffling her hair. She swept her hand self-consciously over her victory roll. “A palace? How could I possibly say no?”

“I rather hoped that might be your answer.”

They turned onto Rossio Square, and James was immediately pulled away by a nearby table of Frenchmen who greeted him with a wave.