“Go ahead. You really can’t drink too much. In fact.” I give him a once-over and then jump up. Oh, yes. The spring is back in my step. I grab two of the bottles from the counter and then add a few more drops to the tea before freshening both our cups.
“You weigh more than I do.” By a good hundred pounds. “I should’ve added extra to begin with. I wasn’t thinking.”
“An aftereffect of an attack,” he says. “I sometimes forget about my shoes.” He stretches out a leg and gives his foot a shake. “If they’re on, I forget to take them off. If they’re off, I forget to put them on. And sometimes, one’s on, and one’s off.”
The confession is so sweet and charming that I can’t resist matching it. “I sometimes don’t bother going upstairs, and I sleep in the pantry.”
He peers over my shoulder. “It seems cozy enough. I see it comes stocked with its own pillow and blanket.”
Oh. So he noticed. Then again, there’s probably little that Agent Darnelle doesn’t notice.
He raises his teacup to mine. “To the end of a successful mission.”
I work to unpack that. Is he implying there’s an us, as in a field team? We did fall into step with each other. It felt natural, like we were long-time partners, and this was simply another pesky Screamer attack we needed to deal with before heading home for the day.
I can’t fathom the look in his eyes, but there’s a hint of that stealth smile, so I touch the rim of my cup to his.
“To the end of a successful mission,” I echo.
That stealth smile again, one that touches his eyes, deepens the smattering of crow’s feet there.
I’m starting to suspect that this mission won’t be my last.
Agent Darnelle is at the kitchen sink, washing the tea things—I tried to stop him, but he insisted—when he calls over his shoulder.
“I’ll alert my host at the bed and breakfast that I’ll be having guests for a morning meeting.”
Once again, he’s completely unfathomable. So I go with, “Morning meeting? Guests?”
“It’s time for your debriefing, and I thought a breakfast meeting might be nice.”
“But, the examination.”
“What of it?”
“I didn’t finish it.”
He waves my words away as if they’re merely soap bubbles. “You completed the main portion.”
“I did?”
“The rest is merely endurance, and I can score you on that without any help from a computer.”
He sets the tea things in the dish rack gently, as if they’re family heirlooms, which they’re not. I’m too clumsy after an attack to trust myself with anything other than thrift store specials.
“So, nine o’clock at the Riverside B&B? You and your mentor?—”
“Wait. What?”
“You and your mentor,” he continues, slowly, that stern schoolmaster making a reappearance, “and myself will sit down over some scones and coffee and discuss your results.”
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. NO.
“My mentor,” I say, and the words feel clumsy and foreign in my mouth.
“Of course. I can’t wait to meet her.”
Well, he’s going to have to keep on waiting.
