“You’re from Eugene?” he asks as he cracks a smile, and I nod. “Eugene, Oregon?” he clarifies. I nod once more. “I’m from Portland,” he confesses. That specific aroma of his, the one that first night at the bar and again this morning, makes sense now. Sagebrush and lupine. He must have Oregon in his pores. It’s so specific, so familiar.
“No way!” I shake my head in disbelief. “How did you end up in Tampa?” And for once it’s nice to talk with someone about life. About things that aren’t related to finish lines, logistical issues with shipping, or black-market weapons deals.
Hearing Blaed talk about his family back in Oregon, homesickness creeps in. And not just for my home but for my old life. For a time when my biggest problem at work was a few pity stares. Now I have to worry about secret societies, shooters, and overly competitive PR managers.
“Do you come here often?” Blaed asks, turning the conversation back to me.
I shake my head, nervous under his gaze. “No, I’m picking something up for me and a friend before I head into work.”
“That same friend from the bar?” Blaed asks.
“Yep, Ana,” I confirm. I’m impressed he remembered her too.
“So not a male coworker then?” Blaed clarifies.
And yep, I’m blushing. Because there is a very clear question behind that question. “No,” I say. And it’s the truth. But Declan’s dimples flash in my mind.
Blaed nods. “I haven’t seen you around. I went back to the beach bar the last two Fridays hoping to catch you.” Blaed is putting on all kinds of charm. He offers a sheepish grin and fiddles with the cardboard wrap of his to-go coffee cup. I remember that when Blaed rescued me from that ginormous bug, I was quite taken by him.
He’s classically handsome by anyone’s standards. The tan skin offset by light hair and green eyes. The cleft chin. His muscles are bulky, which is usually not my thing. I go for endurance guys: lean muscles and stamina. And there is Declan’s face, popping into my mind again.
But I’m new in town. I can count Ana as a friend, for sure, and Declan is becoming more tolerable as a coworker, and after being locked in yesterday, I think we’re solid work friends. But outside of work I don’t have anyone to hang out with. Being friends with Blaed could be good.
“I had to travel for work. I might be there next week, though.”
“That sounds fantastic, I’ll see you next week then,” Blaed says with a twinkle in his eye.
Oh gosh, I hope he doesn’t think it is a date.But would a date be the worst thing? Again, my mind snaps to a picture of Declan.Whoa, where did that come from?
I steal a glance at Blaed as he walks over to the napkin and sugar stand. His chiseled triceps are peaking out of his skintight black T-shirt as he jots something on one of the napkins; they move deliciously along with his forearms as he writes.
Blaed seems sweet. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to have someone in my life, romantically or platonic, who isn’t enmeshed in FIRE.
He walks over with a confident swagger and hands me the napkin. It has his number on it.
“In case plans change again,” he tells me.
I can’t think of a flirty response, so I say “thanks” and pocket the napkin.
The woman behind the counter calls my name.
“See you next week,” I say before I head out, waving to Blaed.
The warm feeling after chatting with Blaed dissipates quickly, fizzling as soon as I exit the café. Outside, the urge to hurry to work kicks in. To the safety of crowds.
Maybe I should have stayed and chatted with Blaed longer. At least he distracted me from this new ever-present anxiety.
Both times I’ve been in danger recently have been while on the job for FIRE. Rushing to get to work feels counterintuitive. But I know Uncle Ollie, Ian, and Declan will keep me safe.
So far in this job I’ve been shot at and locked in a storage unit. What’s coming next? Will I be able to dodge it in time?
I really need to figure out who this mole is so I can get some peace of mind for myself, my colleagues, and, oh yeah, the free world which is at risk of an impending attack.
25
DECLAN
I enter the office in an uncaffeinated fog. I set my laptop bag down on my chair and grab my FIRE mug without thought, all muscle memory, headed for the break room. When I step back out of my office, something catches my eye. Or someone.
