She reaches over and touches the panel on the dash. The music shuts off. I’m grateful for the quiet. Not sure how she knew I needed the silence. But I’m not going to ask.
"You all right?" she asks softly.
I must be losing my touch for keeping my feelings in check, if she could read the emotions my face. I blow out a breath. "I will be."
"Hmm." She looks out the windscreen with interest. "Why don’t we get a drink?"
"Eh?" I shoot her a sideways glance.
"Just a drink. No funny business, I promise."
I frown.
"Look, all I have to look forward to is another long day washing dishes in a restaurant tomorrow. I need a night cap to help me sleep."
Despite myself, I’m intrigued. "You work in a restaurant?"
"For my sins." She leans back with a sigh. "I got a scholarship to go to culinary school. Not that it helped. The only job I could find on graduating was as the kitchen porter, aka the dishwasher.”
She purses her lips. Her tone is casual but there’s frustration behind her words.
“I have a culinary degree. At the very least I should have been able to get a job doing prep for the chefs, but no.”
She throws up her hands.
“The London restaurant scene is so competitive. There were so many applicants even for this dishwashing role.” She half laughs. “I was lucky I got it. At least, it’s a decent restaurant. I should be grateful for that, I suppose."
"You want to be a chef?"
She stares at me.
"What?"
"That’s the first complete statement you’ve spoken to me."
I snort. "No, it’s not."
She grins. "No. You’re right. But given how you’ve answered me with grunts, it might as well be."
I can’t stop my lips from quirking again. She makes it easy for me to smile. To forget the horrors I’ve seen. To not spend time mulling over the dangers and the darkness in this world and to focus on the brightness instead. She carries a certain lightness in her that lessens the weight I’ve carried on my shoulders since my last mission. That is the only reason why I take the next turnoff and head for a nearby bar. A quiet one, this time.
The bartender slidesa glass of something pink and frothy in her direction. I eye it meaningfully, then her.
She flushes slightly. "Yes, it’s a frozen strawberry daiquiri, so?"
"Pot. Kettle." I say mildly.
She raises her glass. "What should we toast to?"
How the fuck am I supposed to know?I stay quiet.
She frowns, then her face brightens. "Oh, I know. Let’s toast to getting to know each other."
Something I’m not sure is wise. I worry that the more I get to know her, the more complicated this non-relationship between us will get.
She reaches forward and taps her glass to mine. "Cheers."
"Or not." I shrug, then take another sip of my water. I’m driving so I’m not drinking.
