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"Depends on the whiskey."

I close the file again, but this time I take her hand before she can reopen it.

"Come."

"I need another twenty minutes."

"You said that an hour ago."

"How do you know?"

"Because unlike you, I understand clocks."

She mutters something insulting under her breath but lets me pull her from the chair. That is when I see she's barefoot.

I look down. "Where are your shoes?"

Elena looks down too, as though surprised to discover they aren't attached to her feet.

"Somewhere."

"Where?"

"If I knew, they wouldn't be somewhere."

I close my eyes briefly. The woman can reconstruct twenty years of criminal financial activity from microscopic processing fees but cannot locate her own shoes.

"You left one in the kitchen this morning."

"Excellent. We're halfway there."

I look at her. She smiles. And there it is. The thing I still haven't learned how to prepare for.

Happiness.

Not the violent relief of surviving something. Not lust or possession or the temporary satisfaction of defeating an enemy.

Something smaller.

A barefoot woman standing in my study after ruining its organization. I pull her toward me. She gives a surprised laugh when she hits my chest.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing."

"Suspicious."

I kiss her forehead. Her hands settle against my waist. The moment is ordinary. That's why it matters.

We eat lunch on the terrace.

Elena steals food from my plate despite having the same food on hers, then denies it while chewing the evidence. I decide not to argue because apparently love involves tolerating crimes I would punish severely in other people.

My phone vibrates beside my hand.

Elena glances at it. "If that's Evander, tell him you're eating."

"Why?"