Page 113 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

She looks exactly like herself. Nothing arranged. Nothing staged. No perfect date, sunset cruise, or ghost tour. Only Reese waiting for me with a smile on her face that could bring a man home from anywhere in the world.

For a moment, we just stand there—me beneath the porch light and Reese framed in the doorway. The same place I nearly kissed her Saturday. The same door. The same two people.

Nothing feels the same.

Then she grabs my arm and pulls me inside, reaching around me to push the door closed. The movement leaves barely any space between us.

“How was the mysterious government thing?”

“Long.”

“Dangerous?”

“No.”

“Did you save the world?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. That would be an intimidating achievement to follow.”

I move in closer to Reese and say, “I didn’t see Charlie’s car.”

“She’s stuck at work.”

Reese closes what little distance remains. “I asked you a question yesterday.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. A breath I feel against my skin.

“I’ve been thinking about the answer ever since.”

Her eyes search mine. “And?”

“I am going to kiss you now.”

Her lips curve slightly. “That sounds more like an operational declaration than romance.”

“I can phrase it differently.”

“I didn’t say I objected.”

I lift one hand and rest it against her cheek, her skin warm against my palm. The last time I touched her this way, I stopped. Now the space between us contains nothing but intention. Still, I pause, leaving the final inch to her. Reese closes it.

Her mouth touches mine, and for one second, everything is careful and new. Everything beneath it is familiar. The shape of her cheek beneath my hand. The faint citrus scent of her shampoo. The way she leans into me without hesitation, as though she has trusted my arms for years, because she has.

Then her fingers grip the front of my sweater, and careful becomes impossible. I kiss her again, and Reese rises onto her toes, pressing closer.

I have imagined this.

Every imagined version was wrong.

None of them included the small sound she makes when I slide my hand around her waist. None included the way she smiles against my mouth in the middle of the kiss. None included the overwhelming relief of discovering that kissing Reese doesn’t make her feel like someone new. She is still the woman who texts me criminal histories for ferns. Still the person who recognizes me even when I’m in disguise. Still my best friend. Only now we’re allowed to kiss.

I draw back just enough to breathe.

Reese’s eyes remain closed for a moment before opening. “Well,” she says softly. “That answered the question.”

“Thoroughly?”

She considers.