I could see myself falling hard for this city if I had a view of the Common from my bedroom. Then again, I doubted Tom and I could afford a townhouse like these. Probably not unless I got a kickass job, which seemed unlikely at the moment. Not that we'd discussed living together or buying a parkside townhouse or the possibility of me bringing my up-in-the-air situation down to the ground.
We hadn't discussed any of it but it seemed to exist in a pocket of possibility not unlike us trying a new sushi place tomorrow evening, inviting friends over for a Lego building game night next week, getting tickets for a show next month, going to Europe this summer. If we could do those things, we could just as easily get a townhouse or a condo together. We could do anything we wanted. Now that the CIA wasn't anxiously awaiting my return, I had all the flexibility in the world. Might as well enjoy it with someone I loved.
And I did, I loved Tom.
With that thought shimmering in my blood like a secret prize created especially for me, the toe of my boot caught on the sidewalk's uneven stones and I stumbled, reaching out for anything as I hurtled to the ground.
The impact skinned my palms, wrenched my bad arm enough to make me curse cobblestones, and left my knees throbbing. But more than that, I was appalled. I wasn't clumsy. I didn't trip over knobby old sidewalks. My nerves and coordination were things of Navy legend. If I hadn't made the cut at SEAL school, there would've been a comfortable home for me in the circus.
I collected myself and continued on toward Tom's office as if I hadn't taken an epic fall but now I was rattled. For the most part, I didn't share the superstitions most SEALs came up with although it was difficult to accept I'd merely tripped on an uneven sidewalk, difficult to see it was an accident rather than a harbinger. It sounded outrageous as I turned it over in my mind yet I couldn't stop thinking about the time I'd tracked a chemical weapons dealer halfway across Europe and had him in my sight only for a chunk of gravel to sputter out from under a garbage truck's tire and crack my windshield. I'd known in my gut at that moment it was a sign, the mission was fucked, I had to get out—and it was a damn good thing I'd known because I backed off just in time to spot a trio of snipers taking aim from rooftops lining the street. The same sense had hit me before a roadside bombing in Afghanistan, a shitty situation with a turned operative in Belarus, and shoddy intel from local sources in Syria that would've ended with a livestreamed beheading.
I had that sense right now. The oily swish in my stomach, the key-turn tightening in my shoulders, the cold wash of awareness down my spine. I couldn't trace this feeling back to anything rational as I couldn't define the way the frequencies around me shifted. I knew only that theyhadshifted and I was walking into a tenuous moment.
But that didn't make a lick of sense. I wanted to laugh at myself because why the hell would there be any danger in visiting Tom for lunch? It wasTom. I'd shown up on his doorstep a time or ten and it'd never been a problem. I knew he took his job seriously but surprising him during the day wasn't on par with evading snipers. It just wasn't.
I paused on the narrow street, craning my neck to stare up at the tidy windows making up the face of the Walsh Associates offices. Staring, thinking, debating whether it was best to go back to Will's house and beat myself up in his home gym.
Pushing away all the weird vibes, I climbed the steps to the front door and up to Tom's office. After all the stories he'd told me about this place, I could've found my way around blindfolded. He hadn't mentioned it was swanky as hell. No wonder he was obsessive about his suits and shoes and everything. He had to be, working here.
I rounded a corner and found Tom and Andy, the one with all the hair, seated with their backs to me at a small meeting table inside his office, hunched over several magazines. Their positions granted me a minute to observe him in his element.
"I understand you like this vibe," he said, pointing at one spread. "I'm sure it will be gorgeous in its gushing abundance. However, as you are asking my opinion, I have to tell you these arrangements look like flower vomit."
"I'm not talking about the gushing abundance," Andy replied, laughing. "I'm more interested in how these use random silver containers like soup tureens and teapots rather than glass vases. How it's a little Hogwartsy."
"Oh, then, yeah," he conceded.
"There will be no gushing, no flower vomit. I'm thinking some clean, simple arrangements in antique sugar bowls and putting the candles in tall cylindrical glass vases to make it look like they're floating. Like in the Great Hall because that's precious and I love it."
Tom pressed a relieved hand to his chest. "And I love that for you."
I leaned against the doorframe, saying, "I also love that for you."
He whirled around, his hand still on his chest, and his face split into the most perfect smile and I knew right then my sixth sense had misfired. For the first time in months, I knew—I believed—everything was going to be all right.
"Oh my god, it's so good to see you." Gesturing to Andy, Tom said, "Wes, I'm sure you remember—"
"Andy. Congratulations on the engagement." I reached out, offering my hand.
"Thank you," she replied.
I tipped my chin up at Tom as he pushed out of his chair. "Any chance I can take you to lunch?"
"Did you hear my stomach rumbling from the North Shore?" he asked, wrapping me in a quick squeeze. "Yes, of course you can take me to lunch."
While he busied himself with collecting his phone and shrugging into his coat, I asked Andy, "Would you like to join us?"
I prayed the answer was no. She was wonderful and it would be fine but I'd come here to see Tom and I wanted him all to myself.
"If you'd asked me an hour ago, I would've said yes, but since then I've consumed two bowls of soup and a kale Caesar the size of this table," she replied. "And I'm heading out early this afternoon to sample cakes with Patrick so I should get back to work anyway. Thank you though."
Thank god.
I followed Tom out of the office and back onto the street, letting him select our destination. As we headed in the direction of some café he insisted I'd adore, I asked, "What were you looking at with Andy?"
"Well," he started as if I'd inquired into a topic of massive significance, "she came in with a lineup of five different tablescapes and I have to be honest with you, I was alarmed."
"Alarmed?" I repeated.
