Page 88 of Code Name: Grit

“You haven’t mentioned them.”

“When has there been time?” he said, winking. “Seriously, though. Soon.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Craig and Sylvia Harrison. My mother’s maiden name was Drake. They live in Charlottesville, Virginia, where I was raised and lived all through college.”

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but do you have brothers or sisters?”

Grit shook his head. “Just me.” His fingers traced my cheekbone, and his expression turned serious. “What happens now?”

“With Cassio, you mean?” I considered the question. “We take it slowly. Get to know each other. See where it leads.”

“And with us?”

I shifted to face him fully. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“Even with my shoulder still healing and the physical therapy I’ll need?”

“Even with that.” I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “But we don’t have to stay here for your recovery. Not if you don’t want to.”

“What did you have in mind?”

I smiled. “I thought maybe Cold Spring. That house by the river you told me about. It sounds peaceful.”

His eyes brightened. “You want to go there? With me?”

“If the offer still stands.”

“It was never really an offer,” he said, brushing his lips against mine. “More of a dream I didn’t dare voice.”

“Well, I’m voicing it now,” I murmured against his mouth. “Take me home, Grit.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised, pulling me closer. “I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

23

GRIT

The gravel driveway crunched beneath the SUV’s tires as we rounded the final bend, bringing my house into view. I’d used the inheritance from my grandparents to buy it seven years ago, and months of renovations and countless solitary evenings had transformed the neglected cabin into a sanctuary. The facade was rough-cut river stone and weathered cedar siding, anchored by an expansive deck. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the trees and late-afternoon light, making the structure seem part of the landscape rather than imposed upon it.

“It’s even more beautiful than you described,” Lumi’s voice was soft with wonder as I stopped the vehicle.

“It’s ours now,” I said, reaching across to take her hand. “If you want it to be.”

She squeezed my fingers, eyes bright. “It’s perfect.”

I eased myself from the driver’s seat, mindful of my shoulder.

“Let me get the bags,” she said, moving to the rear of the SUV while I used my good arm to grab the house key from my pocket.

“There’s no rush,” I replied, watching her collect our things. “We have all the time in the world.”

The words felt true in a way they never had before. After years of chasing the next mission, the next target, the next threat, I found myself slowing down. Wanting to savor each moment rather than racing to the next.

I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The air inside was cool and smelled of cedar and pine. Mrs. Kinsella from down the road had kept her promise to check on the place while I was away. Fresh flowers stood in a mason jar on the kitchen counter, and a note welcomed me home.

Lumi followed me inside, setting our bags down just past the threshold. Her eyes widened as she took in the exposed-beam ceiling, the stone fireplace that dominated one wall, and the wall of windows overlooking the Hudson River below.