Page 32 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)
The easy conversation continues as we eat and watch the street life of Puerto Limón unfold around us.
Vendors sell roasted corn and tropical fruit from wheeled carts.
Children play soccer in the plaza while their parents conduct business or socialize with neighbors.
Musicians set up near the fountain and fill the evening air with guitar music that transforms the ordinary scene into something magical.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say while watching a group of teenagers dance to the street music with unselfconscious joy.
“It is.” He follows my gaze toward the plaza before returning his attention to me. “Different from what you’re used to.”
“Different from anything I’m used to anywhere.” I gesture toward the scene around us. “Academic life doesn’t involve much cultural immersion outside conference hotels and university cafeterias.”
“Do you think you’d want more of this? Travel, new experiences, and cultural diversity?”
The question is as much about our future as my future. “Are you asking if I’d be interested in a lifestyle that involves more international adventure?”
“I’m asking if you’d be interested in a lifestyle that doesn’t confine your research to university laboratories and peer review committees?”
I consider this while watching the street musicians transition into a song that gets several couples dancing spontaneously.
The possibility of conducting research in diverse environments, studying ecosystems firsthand, and applying scientific knowledge to real-world problems appeals to me more than I expected.
“The research applications could be extraordinary,” I say while calculating the logistics. “Field studies, international collaboration, and access to biological diversity that doesn’t exist in controlled laboratory settings is very tempting.”
“Plus, the adventure aspects seem to agree with you.”
“The adventure aspects are growing on me.” I pause to watch a small child successfully negotiate with a vendor for extra mango slices through pure determination. “I’d prefer future adventures to involve less kidnapping and more voluntary participation, of course.”
He chuckles. “That can probably be arranged.”
As dinner progresses, and the evening settles into comfortable warmth, Cal’s expression grows more serious. He finishes his food and leans back in his chair with a posture that says he’s preparing to address important topics. “Becci, we need to talk about what happens when we get home.”
The shift in his tone makes my stomach tighten with anticipation that has nothing to do with tropical cuisine. “What kind of talk?”
“The kind about whether you’ll be safe returning to your normal routine or whether we need to implement security protocols that assume ongoing threats.”
I set down my fork and give him my full attention. This is the conversation I’ve been avoiding since our escape began. The practical implications of having my research targeted by well-funded criminal organizations don’t disappear just because we’ve successfully fled the country.
“How ongoing do you think the threats are?”
Cal’s expression shifts into the tactical assessment mode that appears when he’s processing multiple variables simultaneously.
“Dr. Vega’s organization invested significant resources in acquiring you and your research.
They won’t simply abandon that investment because the initial operation failed, but I do have a friend looking into it. ”
“Meaning they’ll try again if your friend isn’t successful?”
“Yes, meaning they’ll try again with better planning and more resources.” He leans forward with the kind of focused intensity that means he’s already developed comprehensive countermeasures. “However, they’ll also have to account for increased security awareness and protective measures.”
“What kind of protective measures?”
Cal reaches into his jacket and produces a folded paper that turns out to be a detailed list written in his precise handwriting.
“Relocation options for your laboratory to facilities with enhanced security infrastructure. Vetted allies who can provide technical consultation and tactical support. Encryption protocols for your research data that exceed university standards.”
I scan the list with growing amazement. He’s thought through everything—from secure communication systems to emergency evacuation procedures. The level of detail suggests he’s been planning comprehensive protection strategies since before we even escaped the compound.
“Cal, this is incredibly thorough.”
“It’s also completely necessary if you want to continue your research without constantly looking over your shoulder for professional kidnapping teams. Even if Nikolai takes out Vega, another group like it could be out there.”
I continue reading through his security recommendations while processing. The measures he’s suggesting would fundamentally change how I conduct research, where I live, and how I interact with colleagues and family. “This would require completely reorganizing my entire life.”
“It would require reorganizing your life around realistic security concerns rather than hoping the threats disappear on their own.”
The practical side of my brain appreciates his systematic approach to threat mitigation.
The emotional side struggles with accepting that my career choices have made normal life impossible for the foreseeable future.
“What about my family? My parents in Ohio, and my colleagues at the university?” I ask while continuing to review his list. “Do they need security measures, too?”
“I’ve already arranged basic monitoring and protection for your parents. Your iguana has been relocated to a secure facility with appropriate climate control and dietary requirements.”
I stop reading and stare at him in complete shock. “You arranged protection for Galileo?”
“Galileo represents a potential leverage point for anyone wanting to influence your behavior. Protecting him protects you.”
The fact that he considered my three-foot iguana a legitimate security concern and took measures to ensure his safety hits me with an emotional force I wasn’t expecting.
Most people find my attachment to Galileo eccentric at best. Cal treated it as a tactical priority requiring professional attention.
“You had my iguana moved to a secure facility.” I’m about to cry.
“I had your iguana moved to a reptile sanctuary that specializes in tending exotic pets whose owners have to travel. Like a reptile kennel.” He produces another paper from his jacket. “He has his own habitat with controlled temperature, appropriate vegetation, and specialized veterinary care.”
I blink twice while processing this information. Cal has anticipated, planned for, and implemented solutions to problems I hadn’t even considered. He’s approached protecting everyone and everything I care about with the same methodical precision he brings to tactical operations.
The realization that someone understands both the practical and emotional aspects of my life well enough to design comprehensive protection strategies creates feelings I don’t have adequate vocabulary to express.
“I love you.” The words come out in the tone I use when discovering a new chemical compound or identifying an unexpected variable in experimental data—simple, direct, and slightly amazed by the possibilities.
He goes very still, his expression shifting from tactical planning to something vulnerable and hopeful. “You love me?”
“I love you.” The repetition feels like confirming experimental results.
“I love that you arranged security coverage for my iguana. I love that you approach protecting people with the same intensity most people reserve for protecting themselves. I love that you understand why my research matters and support it even when it creates tactical complications.”
“I love you, too.”
He says it simply, without qualification or explanation, like stating an established fact rather than making a declaration. The matter-of-fact delivery makes it more meaningful than dramatic pronouncements or elaborate romantic gestures ever could. “You love me.”
“I love you. I love your scientific approach to everything including dangerous situations. I love that you conduct field research while fleeing criminal organizations. I love that you care enough about a sick child to risk our extraction timeline.” He reaches across the table to take my hand.
“I love that you make me want to be someone worth building a life with instead of just someone who solves immediate problems.”
The evening air carries sounds of laughter and music from the plaza while we sit holding hands and processing the fact that we’ve just exchanged love declarations over dinner in a Costa Rican port town.
The moment should feel dramatic or overwhelming, but it settles between us like a ceasefire flag made of sarcasm and emotional growth.
I don’t know what comes next. Our relationship exists in the intersection of academic research, international security threats, and reptilian biology that doesn’t translate easily to conventional dating.
The variables are complex, the external pressures are significant, and the logistics require careful planning.
For once in my adult life, I trust the variables instead of trying to control them. “So,” I say while watching street musicians pack up their instruments as the evening winds down, “what happens now?”
He squeezes my hand while considering the question. “We go home and figure out how to build something that works for both of us. Your research, my security work, and whatever this becomes when we’re not running from international criminals.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It sounds perfect.”
I grin while calculating the probability of successfully integrating two complex careers with enhanced reptilian biology and ongoing security threats. The mathematics are challenging, but the variables include love, mutual respect, and shared commitment to protecting things that matter.
The odds look surprisingly good. Much higher than eighty-seven percent now.
“I should probably collect some plant specimens before we leave tomorrow,” I say while watching vendors close their stalls for the evening. “For research purposes.”
He laughs like he’s completely given up on conventional relationship patterns. “You definitely should. We can’t waste the scientific opportunities.”
As we walk back to our hotel through streets that smell like salt air, I think about the future we’re planning to build together.
It won’t be predictable or simple, but it will be honest. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to control variables and minimize uncertainty.
With Cal, I’m learning that some unknowns are worth embracing rather than controlling, and some uncertainty creates better outcomes than careful planning.
Tomorrow, we fly home to start building whatever comes next. Tonight, we’re just two people who found each other in the most unlikely circumstances and decided to keep what we found.