Page 157 of Jonesing for a Spy

Strider

It’s a bit much, flying to Nashville for lunch, but I have to admit Dimitri’s is crave-able. We’ve talked about it a few times since we were here in November.

Yes, it’s that good, but also that weekend, something shifted. And so this city and his restaurant have a special place in my memory and in my heart.

Holding the door open for Mirren, she walks in ahead of me and, as fate would have it, drops into the same seat she took last time at the same table.

“Want what we got last time,” I ask over the menu. “Or are you feeling like trying something new.”

“I’m open.” She closes her menu. “You choose. Happy either way. Just no feta for me.”

I study her. We’ve talked about those feta fries each time the subject of Dimitri’s has come up.

“You okay?” I drop my menu to study her.

“Yeah. Just not feeling it. So inconvenient, right?”

So inconvenient, right? That doesn’t sound like my Mirren at all.

“What’s going on, Freckles?”

“Hey, you two.” Dimitri looks between the two of us. “It’s been a while. What can I get you?”

I look at my fiancée. Something’s going on, but I don’t know what. Extending a hand, I offer that she order first.

“Chicken gyro plate, no feta please. And a lamb gyro with your special loaded fries,” she says to the man at our table.

“I thought you didn’t want the loaded fries,” I say to her in front of him.

“I’m good if you are.”

Her speech is different.

“And two waters. Thanks, Dimitri,” I offer to the man who smiles down on us before walking away. To Mirren, I extend both of my palms face up and wait for her to place hers in mine. “Freckles, you’re acting off. What’s going on?”

“I didn’t want you to miss out on the feta fries. I just can’t have it right now.”

“You aren’t feeling it or can’t have it… which is it?”

“I can’t have unpasteurized cheese for a bit.”

“Why?”

She slides her palms from mine and grabs her purse, fishing out a slender, unadorned white box and hands it over.

I lift the lid, and my jaw drops. I stare at the gift and then at the giver, back and forth until joy bursts from my body in a huge laugh. It’s not something I can contain, nor would I ever want to. Falling to my knees in front of her, I stare into her gorgeous gray-green eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re pregnant?”

She nods.

“And you flew me to Nashville to tell me?”

She shrugs. “We were here last time, and it felt rather poetic.”

“Except we’re in public and we can’t celebrate,” I grumble.