“That is unexpectedly responsible.”
“I have range.”
“Did you apologize for almost knocking off my mask?”
“I described the incident as an enthusiastic equipment interaction.”
“That is not an apology.”
“There is an apology in the second paragraph.”
I placed the letter beside my keys.
“I’ll give it to her mother.”
“Thank you.”
Annie hesitated.
“You can read it first.”
“Why?”
“To make sure it’s appropriate.”
“It belongs to Lexi.”
“Yes.”
“I trust you to write one letter to a nine-year-old without creating an international incident.”
Her expression softened.
“That feels significant.”
“Do not make it ceremonial.”
“I had already ordered a plaque.”
I stepped closer and kissed her.
The kiss was brief, mostly because I had not planned it and Annie’s surprise made me want to see her face.
“That did not involve a formal request,” she said.
“I’m testing a less regulated system.”
“I strongly support innovation.”
I kissed her again.
This time, she put both hands around my waist and drew me against her. The kitchen, the flight, and every conversation about trust faded beneath the uncomplicated fact that I wanted her.
Then the refrigerator made a grinding sound.
Annie pulled back.
“Is that normal?”
