Page 38 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Can you control them?”

“Can tsunamis be lassoed?” she replies sarcastically.

“Then that’s your answer.”

“My answer inconveniently made it so your pasta and meat sauce was eaten reheated from the microwave.”

“I didn’t say it was ideal. But I learned young that stressing over shit you can’t control is a great way to be upset, disappointed, and all-around annoyed. It’s bad for the body.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll take that wisdom and let things go.” Under her breath, she adds, “For tonight.”

“Come here.” I tug our joined hands so she gets my meaning. Once she’s plastered to my side with her arm slung low around my waist, I ask, “What did you do this evening?”

“Besides wrangling natural disasters named Mikey and Charlie? Not much. Well, I cleaned my apartment. I needed to burn some energy.”

Her place wasn’t dirty. “And you didn’t want to be here?” My voice is low, only a murmur.

She shakes her head against my chest. “I only wanted to be here. But I wanted to respect you.”

“And how is coming here not respecting me?”

“You’re on vacation, and I’ve only known you for a day. You may have wanted a break from me.” Her thumb draws a random pattern under my pec, distracting my focus, but comforting me, nonetheless.

My arm around her goes tight. “I can’t think of anything further from the truth, Freckles.”

Mirren

“I’m comfortable with you, Strider. And that’s not a thing for me. I’m not easy.”

The hand cupping my ass squeezes tight, and the man in question kisses the top of my head. “You’re the easiest thing in my life.” And from his tone, I can tell he’s serious.

“What about your life is hard?”

His chest rises and falls with his deep breaths. “Jokes aside… Maybe hard is the wrong word. Maybe complicated is better.”

“That sounds like a relationship status,” I say quietly, lulled by his warmth and by the rhythm of his breathing.

“It’s not far from the truth. Sometimes, I wonder if I should break up with the life I’m building and chase something worth it.”

“What’s not worth it?”

“The status quo. What I mean is everything is fine. My job’s fine. My house is fine. Life is… fine.”

“If everything is fine”—my own yawn interrupts me—“why fight a good thing?”

“Because what if on the other side of good is something exceptional and I’m settling for fine?”

“The good versus great thing we talked about last night.”

“Yeah. Ever wonder if everyone just takes the easy path, avoids the challenge, chooses not to fight?”

“Lots of things to fight in life.” I feel myself drifting. “I can see why easy would be acceptable to lots of people. Good enough. No challenge. Why not?”

He begins speaking, a rumble in his chest under my ear. But the rise and fall of breath in his lungs reminds me of being on a boat in the water. Surrounded by warmth, safe in Strider’s arms, I fall asleep not worrying about whether my life could be easy.

Never has been. Never will be.

But like I told him earlier, neither am I.