“Go potty,” Dakota commanded, and Tank trotted over to a three-sided space with a substrate different from the lawn. AsTank did his business, Dakota shut the hatch. “Iniquus taught him how to use a toilet, and he seems to prefer that. But he still has to practice his outdoor skills. I can’t let him get prim about these things.” He whistled. “Come on, Tank, dinner time.”
Tank raced to the door, plopped his butt down, and waited.
After tapping in a lock code, Dakota opened the door wide for Rylee. She walked into an open floor plan with natural elements of slate and wood. The colors were neutral with splashes of bright contrast. Elements here and there brought welcome moments of surprise to the geometric serenity.
“Did you design this?” she asked, wandering over to the bookcase, taking in the titles that ranged from history to philosophy to finance and government. There was a good number of fiction that were heavy on the classics with mysteries and thrillers thrown in for good measure.
“My little sister did it as her senior interior design project at the uni.”
Dakota steered toward the kitchen, where he washed his hands, then pulled out the ingredients for dinner.
“Can I help?” Rylee asked.
“How about you sit at the counter and have a drink? Wine, cider, beer, water, soda.”
“Cider would be nice. I was in Normandy on vacation last year, and I became a big fan.”
“Co-director of operations for a major NGO, tell me a bit about that job.” Dakota popped the top off the cider. “Bottle or glass.”
“Bottle, please.”
He set the bottle in front of her as he began prepping the food with a deftness that said he was comfortable in the kitchen and cooked well.
“My role is to deal with operational challenges both in logistics and personnel. We run into a lot of issues when we putteams into play. I coordinate not just with my team but also with local governments and other international NGOs to ensure the right team shows up and that we aren’t duplicating efforts while other aspects are overlooked. The same kinds of things that happen in the military. Critical infrastructure is often damaged, making on-site arrival difficult, especially in remote areas where access is already limited. The supply chain is a challenge, and one of the reasons we take stacks of cash into an area. And, of course, we need to be sensitive to and work within the local population's framework. So that means developing meaningful relationships with local leaders, listening to their priorities, and explaining possible roadmaps we can support. But yeah, I’m responsible for the training and management of all the personnel in the field and the success of their operations.”
“Big job,” Dakota said as he moved the ingredients to the stove. “This is one of my quick-fix meals. I’ll have it on the table in a few minutes.” He opened the fridge. “While the pasta is cooking, I’ll do a salad. If you see anything I’m pulling out that’s an allergy or a dislike, please tell me.”
“Yes, thank you.” Rylee took a sip of cider and felt the alcohol ease into her bloodstream.
“I imagine you run into issues with politics and security,” he said as he washed the vegetables.
“Yeah, I like that least. My people face armed groups and sudden conflict over limited resources.”
“And they’re not armed, right?”
“We have no weapons. On occasion, we might hire local groups to protect us, but we don’t get involved in physical conflicts. Where the local government sends us is often political rather than strategic to the disaster. It’s important that we remain neutral in everyone’s eyes. Right now, we’re facing significant issues with attrition. Globally, attacks on aid workers are on the rise. Especially for women, it’s a risk. Kidnappingsare up, weapons attacks, and harassment. It’s my job to figure out our policy to keep everything running smoothly so those swept up in the disasters are safe and well cared for.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ve started participating in training evolutions with our fast response teams. I’ll go on their next call-out to get my own boots-on-the-ground, first-hand view of what we’re asking our people to do. I’ll engage them in conversations about what changes can be made to help them do their job.”
Tank wandered over and sniffed her, then lay at her feet. And that just felt nice, welcoming.
Rylee didn’t want to talk about or think about work. “I get a free question.”
“Okay,” Dakota said without hesitation.
“Anything?” She took another swig of cider.
He looked over his shoulder at her and sent her an easy smile. “You can ask anything. Now, whether I’ll answer or not … Kidding. I’m brave. Go.”
“How did you make it through Coronado?”
“Easy enough.” He poured oil and vinegar into a small bowl and whisked them together as the base for a dressing. “I got out there, and I thought they weren’t there to hurt me. They were there to apply a test to me. It was the same test that everyone who wanted the job that I wanted went through before they were hired. The problem was that it was fucking hard.” He caught her eye. “Sorry.”
“Cussing is a sign of intelligence. There are lots of scientific studies supporting that assertion. It was fucking hard?” She raised her brows, so he would continue.
He reached into the spice cabinet and started adding a pinch of this and a pinch of that. “I mean, harder than I could ever have imagined. At some point, I thought, Hey, you know who they’re trying to weed out? Men who don’t make the mark.Men who shouldn’t have the job. What if that’s me? What if I don’t measure up?” He flipped a piece of carrot in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Oh man, that switched everything in my brain, and then it was a competition.” He moved over and set a little pile of sliced carrots by her bottle, calling out, “Tank,” as he flipped some through the air so Tank could catch them and nibble, too.
