Page 84 of Code Name: Grit

“How’s Grit?”

“He’s good. Recovering.”

“I love the happiness in your voice.” Her own joy was evident even through the phone. “I want to hear all about the two of you when I see you.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “There’s a lot to tell.”

After we hung up, I joined Grit on the couch, curling against his uninjured side. His arm wrapped around me automatically, pulling me closer.

When a knock at the door interrupted the moment, I reluctantly extracted myself from his embrace and opened it to find Admiral standing outside. “May I come in?” he asked.

I stepped aside. “Of course. Grit is awake, if you need to speak with him.”

“Actually, it’s you I wanted to talk to,” he said as he entered.

Grit straightened as we approached.

“I’ll get right to it,” Admiral said, his voice low. “Cassio Belcastro has requested a meeting with you.”

My breath caught. “With me?Why?”

Admiral’s expression softened. “I think you know why, Lumi.”

I did know, but hearing it stated so plainly made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“He wants to meet his daughter,” I whispered.

“I’ve vetted the request thoroughly,” Admiral continued. “The meeting would be here, with whatever security measures would make you comfortable. He’s said he’ll wait until you’re ready. No pressure, no timeline.”

My eyes met Grit’s. “Whatever you want to do, whenever you want to do it, Lumi. I’ll be either by your side or as far away as the next room.” He winked, and I smiled.

“I need to think about it,” I said, turning back to Admiral.

He nodded and stood. “Of course. Take all the time you need. No pressure.”

After he left, I tried to process the possibility of coming face-to-face with my father in a context that wasn’t fraught with immediate danger.

“What are you thinking?” Grit asked, his finger tracing circles on my arm. I loved it when he did that.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide right now.”

I turned to face him. “What would you do?”

His eyes searched mine. “It’s not my decision.”

“I know. But I value your opinion.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “I think you’d regret not taking this opportunity. Not the meeting itself—that may or may not go well—but the chance to get answers to questions you’ve had your whole life.”

“What if I don’t like the answers?”

His hand found mine, fingers intertwining. “Then, at least you’ll know. And knowing is better than wondering.”

We talked through every possibility, every potential outcome. Grit listened more than he spoke, giving me space to work through my tangled emotions. By the time evening approached, I’d made my decision.

“I want to meet him,” I finally said. “But I want you there, at least at first.”