Page 40 of Honeyfires

I went back to my paperwork. Neither of us said anything else about it. The evening light came through the window and settled over her where she lay at the foot of my bed, her hair loose, one foot kicked up behind her, and I looked at her for one long, private moment before looking back at my report.

This. This was the thing I hadn't known I was looking for. Not the action. Not the adrenaline. Not the grand gesture. Just a Saturday afternoon and someone in my bed who wanted to be there.

The attractive soccer mom showed up on a Thursday.

I'd come by on my lunch break, as had become customary, coffees in hand. Rodriguez had cut morning drills short when a harness check flagged an issue, and two hours of recertification had put me ahead of schedule and ahead of myself in the direction of Vera's library.

I came through the staff entrance, settled at a table in Vera's eyeline with the coffees and a gear manual, and was three pages in when someone pulled out the chair across from mine without being invited.

She was, objectively, attractive. Mid-forties, dark hair, a smile that had clearly been successfully deployed thousands of times before and knew it.

"Hi," she said. "I don't think I've seen you in here before."

"I come in most days."

"I must have missed you." She settled into the chair with the comfort of someone who had decided this was happening. "I'm Dana."

"Petra."

"That's a beautiful name." She leaned forward slightly. "Do you live in San Jacinto, or—"

"I was born in Braga, Portugal, but I immigrated here with my family when I was three and have pretty much been here ever since." I was aware, in my peripheral vision, of Vera at the reference desk. Her patron had just left. She was reshuffling something on the surface with an energy that was not quite natural. "You?"

"Born and raised in the U.S. of A. Eight months in San Jacinto, though. Still finding my bearings." She smiled again, the practiced version. "Maybe you could show me around sometime."

In my peripheral vision, Vera had gone very still. She was doing the thing where she pretended to be very interested in a display she'd already arranged three times this week.

"I appreciate that," I said, "but I'm seeing someone."

Dana's eyes moved briefly toward the desk. Back to me. "Our cute librarian?"

I looked at Vera, who was absolutely not looking at us. Which meant she had heard every word.

"Yeah," I said. "Her."

Dana received this with good grace, said it was nice to meet me, and took her drink and her smile to another table. I picked up both coffees, walked to the reference desk, and set Vera's down in front of her.

She looked at it. Looked up at me.

"Dana checks out historical fiction," she said. "Every other Thursday. She brought me a plant for the desk at Christmas."

"Kind of her."

"She's been watching you since you walked in." Vera picked up the coffee with both hands. "I noticed."

"I know you noticed."

"I wasn't going to say anything about it."

"I know that, too." I leaned on the desk. "Vera."

"Mm."

"I told her I was seeing someone."

Something almost unreadable moved through her face. "You did?"

"Felt like accurate information." I held her gaze. "Is it accurate?"