I nod, surprised she remembered. “How’d you know?”
“You’ve been checking the time every five minutes since we started lunch. You only do that when you’re planning a bookstore run after work.” She winks. “What’s thisone about? More brooding anti-heroes and morally gray hotties?”
“Something like that.” I feel my cheeks warm. My taste in books is something Eli ridicules mercilessly, but Valerie never judges. “Want to hit the bookstore with me after work? We could grab dinner after.”
Valerie looks genuinely regretful as she checks her phone. “I’ve got banking deposits to handle for the shop. End of month reconciliation and all that boring owner stuff.” She makes a face. “Rain check?”
“Of course.” I try not to let my disappointment show. Going to the bookstore alone isn’t unusual for me, but having company would have been nice.
The afternoon rushes by in a blur of shipments and customer service. At exactly 6 PM, I log out of the system and grab my keys from my purse.
“Have fun at the bookstore,” Valerie calls from where she’s hunched over the accounting books at her desk. “Get something steamy enough to make your husband jealous.”
I force a laugh, though the joke falls flat in my chest. If Eli knew half the things I read, he’d probably burn my entire collection. He already thinks my books are a waste of money and space. If he knew they were my escape hatch, he’d make sure they disappeared.
“See you tomorrow,” I say instead, tucking a printed invoice into the top drawer of my desk for a customer I promised to call with a quote in the morning.
Back in my car, I sit for a moment and let the summer heat soak into my body. The bookstore on Sunset Boulevard is calling to me, promising new worlds, new escapes. For a few hours, I can lose myself in someone else’s story, someone else’s pain and triumph. I can pretend that happyendings exist, that women like me get to walk away and rebuild.
I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, turning toward Sunset. I sway and dance behind the steering wheel, blaring one of my favorites, Victim by MeMyselv&Vi. The irony of my toxic marriage is not lost on me. Maybe that makes me weak.
3
Anthony
The box cutter slicesthrough tape with a satisfying rip, revealing stacks of books I haven’t seen in months. I inhale the familiar scent of paper and binding glue, running my fingers over spines that feel like old friends. After living out of a duffel bag for so long, these books are the first things that make this place feel like mine. This townhouse with its bay view and empty rooms. A blank slate. A fresh start. No one knows me here yet.
“Jesus, Tony, how many books did you ship back?” Mia asks, peering over my shoulder. Her long black hair falls forward as she leans in, examining the titles. “You know e-readers exist for a reason.”
“Had one. Got broken on my last mission.” I don’t elaborate. Don’t tell her how the device shattered when I hurled it against a wall after failing to extract a victim before the corrupt local authorities arrived. Some details my sister doesn’t need to know.
“Of course it did.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection there. Mia’s always understood me better than most, even if she only sees the parts I let her see. “You’re hell on electronics.”
I straighten, surveying the living room. Boxes stacked in precise formation against the far wall. Furniture arranged exactly as I’d specified to the movers. The sliding glass door leading to the balcony offers a perfect view of Assateague Bay, waves lapping gently at the shore beneath the stilts that elevate the townhouse. I could watch those waves for hours.
“So this is home now?” Mia asks, breaking my trance. She’s unpacking dishes in the kitchen, placing them in cabinets with no discernible system. I’ll reorganize them later when she’s gone.
“For now.” I don’t commit to permanence. Never have. But something about this place feels right. The isolation. The view. The proximity to family. “At least until the next mission.”
“Which hopefully won’t be for a while,” she says pointedly. “You promised you’d stay local for a few months this time.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, not making promises I might break. Instead, I focus on arranging my books alphabetically by author on the built-in shelves flanking the gas fireplace. Each spine aligned perfectly with the edge. The system bringing order to chaos.
“Did you hear me?” Mia presses, stepping into my line of sight. “You said you were taking a break from international work.”
I look up at her, forcing a smile. “I am. GameStream needs attention,” I don’t tell her about the mysterious murdering uploader.
The gaming platform generates substantial revenue without much input from me, the perfect cover for my other activities.
Mia’s face softens. “Good. I’ve missed having my big brother around.”
“Missed you too.”
We work in companionable silence for the next several hours. Periodically making small talk. I arrange my belongings with military precision while Mia flits from task to task, her organization system more intuitive than methodical. It should irritate me, but with Mia, I’ve learned to let go of control. Mostly.
“Pizza should be here soon,” she announces, checking her phone. “I ordered from that place on Coastal Highway you liked last time you visited.”
“The one with the garlic knots?”
