"I'm going to be neurotic about this. You know that, right? I'm going to overanalyze everything and make contingency plans for our contingency plans."
"I'm counting on it."
"And I'm going to write about you. In the books. You're going to be a character in everything I write from now on, because my brain has absorbed you and there's no undo button."
"I'm honored."
"You're going to be fictionalized."
"As long as you keep my Scrabble skills accurate."
The laughter comes again—easy, warm, the sound of two people falling into step with each other. His arms wrap around me, and I lean into his chest, and my apartment—the one that felt like a waiting room for two weeks—shrinks to the size of this.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Tara.
Tara: How's the hermit life?
I type back with one hand, the other still fisted in Tucker's shirt:
Me: Hermit life is over. He's here.
Tara: THE SECURITY GUY??
Me: The security guy.
Tara: I KNEW IT. I told you to stop overthinking.
Me: For once.
Tara: For once?? I'm always right. Go kiss him. Stop texting me.
Tucker reads over my shoulder. "I like Tara."
"Everyone likes Tara. She's insufferable."
He presses his mouth to my temple. Just that—lips against skin, unhurried, like we have all the time we wasted and then some. My eyes sting.
Seven books. I've written seven books about this exact feeling, and not once did I get it right. Not once did I capture how small it is. How ordinary. How it's just a man pressing his mouth to your hair and meaning it.
Chapter 14
Tucker
Three months later, and Calder assigns me to security detail for my girlfriend's book launch.
"Really?" I stare at him across his desk. "You're assigning me to guard my own girlfriend?"
Calder doesn't blink. "She's the guest of honor at a public event in Tidehaven. There will be two hundred attendees, a media presence, and Diana Hartwell, who is still technically a client. You know the venue, you know the principal, and you're my best operator."
"The principal is my girlfriend."
"Consider it professional development."
"That's the same thing you said when you sent me to the retreat."
"And look how that turned out." The ghost of a smile crosses his face---Calder's version of a standing ovation. "Briefing's at 0800. Don't be late."
Channel 16 erupts before I'm out of the building.
