Page 34 of Crocodile Tears (Romance Expected Dating Service #2)
“Are we going to be okay?” she asks with the directness she applies to important questions. “I mean, does this work when we’re not running from international criminals?”
Before I can formulate a response that addresses her concerns, a familiar voice interrupts from behind us.
“That was certainly an interesting way to conclude a second date.”
We turn to find Red approaching with her characteristic energy and an expression that combines relief with obvious curiosity about our current state. We look exactly like what we are—two people who’ve spent several days in hostile territory and haven’t had access to proper hygiene facilities.
“Red,” Becci says with surprise that suggests she’d forgotten about the normal world that continued functioning during our adventure. “What are you doing here?”
“Monitoring police reports about missing clients and wondering whether my matchmaking service needs to start including international extraction insurance.” Red examines us with professional assessment that takes in our travel-stained clothes, visible injuries, and obvious exhaustion.
“I have to say, you two look remarkably good for people who’ve been missing for a week. ”
“We’ve had an interesting travel experience,” I say while trying to figure out how much of our situation Red needs to know for professional purposes.
“International travel for research and security consulting coordination,” Becci adds with the kind of diplomatic phrasing that technically isn’t lying but doesn’t provide any useful information.
Red crosses her arms with obvious skepticism. “Research and security consulting that required disappearing without notice and returning in clothes that look like you’ve been camping in hostile territory?”
“Fieldwork can be unpredictable,” Becci says with scientific accuracy that completely avoids addressing Red’s actual concerns.
Before our conversation can become more complicated, Margo appears at the building’s entrance with the kind of focused energy that suggests she’s been tracking developments with systematic precision.
“Dr. L,” she calls while rushing toward us with obvious relief. “You’re back! And you’re alive! And you brought Agent Scales!”
“His name is Cal,” Becci corrects with automatic precision.
“Agent Cal,” Margo says while examining me with obvious approval. “How was the rescue mission? Did you use advanced tactical maneuvers? Were there helicopters? Please tell me there were helicopters.”
Red stares between us narrowed eyes. “Rescue mission?”
“There may have been some tactical complications during our travel experience,” I say while trying to find the right balance between honesty and operational security.
“Tactical complications that required rescue operations?” Red’s voice rises with what appears to be professional concern mixed with personal curiosity.
Before either of us can explain, Margo jumps in with obvious enthusiasm for sharing information she’s clearly been organizing while we were gone.
“I’ve been managing the situation perfectly,” she announces with pride that suggests extensive problem-solving activities.
“I told the university that Dr. L had a family emergency involving a crocodile farm and explosive diarrhea. No one asked follow-up questions.”
Becci stares at her research assistant with horror that suggests she’s processing the professional effects of this cover story. “You told my colleagues I had explosive diarrhea?”
“I told them you had a family emergency that involved biological complications requiring immediate travel and limited communication capabilities,” Margo clarifies with obvious satisfaction at her creative solution. “The crocodile farm detail was just for authenticity.”
I struggle not to laugh at the mental image of Becci’s academic colleagues trying to understand this explanation for her sudden disappearance. The cover story is ridiculous enough to be believable while completely discouraging further investigation.
“Margo,” Becci says with the tone she probably uses for graduate students who’ve contaminated important experiments, “that is the most embarrassing professional excuse you could have possibly created.”
“But it worked perfectly. No one questioned why you weren’t answering emails or returning calls.”
The complexity of our situation increases exponentially when a car pulls up, and people I infer must be Becci’s parents emerge with the kind of concerned energy that suggests they’ve been deeply worried about their daughter’s welfare.
“Rebecca,” calls her mother while rushing toward us with a tower of casseroles that appear to have been prepared for emergency feeding situations.
Her father follows with the measured pace of someone conducting a security sweep. His attention focuses on me with the kind of analytical precision that suggests scientific training applied to evaluating his daughter’s romantic choices.
“Mom, Dad,” Becci says with obvious surprise, “what are you doing here?”
“Margo called us,” her mother explains while simultaneously trying to hug Becci and distribute emergency casseroles to everyone present. “She said you’d returned from your last-minute work trip, and you’d brought someone special.”
Her father approaches me with an extended hand and a look like he’s beginning a thorough interview process. “You must be Calvin. I’m Dr. Raymond Lawson, and I have questions about your intentions regarding my daughter.”
The interrogation that follows covers my professional background, financial stability, long-term objectives, and compatibility with Becci’s career requirements.
Dr. Lawson approaches relationship evaluation with the same systematic methodology his daughter applies to everything, creating questions that require comprehensive responses about topics I’ve never discussed with anyone.
I answer each question with the honesty that someone who’s raised an extraordinary daughter deserves, but the systematic nature of the interrogation makes me feel like I’m defending a dissertation rather than discussing romantic intentions.
Meanwhile, Becci’s mother asks her own series of questions that focus on immediate welfare concerns. “Have you been eating properly? You look thin. And tired. Are you getting adequate rest? Do you need medical attention for those scratches?”
The chaos of simultaneous conversations combined with Red’s professional curiosity and Margo’s detailed questions about tactical operations creates the kind of social complexity that makes military briefings seem straightforward by comparison.
In the middle of this overwhelming reunion, Becci catches my eye with an expression that conveys perfect understanding.
The connection between us exists regardless of external circumstances or social complexity.
Whether we’re fleeing armed criminals or navigating well-meaning family interrogations, what we’ve found together remains constant.
When my phone vibrates to alert me to an incoming email, I’m grateful to have a moment to ease back from the group and read it.
After taking it in and sending back a tentative acceptance, pending “consultation with my partner,” I actively rejoin the group. “Becci,” I say during a brief lull in the various conversations, “I have a professional opportunity that might interest you.”
Everyone turns toward me with obvious curiosity about whatever I’m planning to announce.
“I’ve been offered a security consulting contract in the Amazon with a conservation group studying reptile habitats that need protection from poaching operations and illegal logging activities.
” I pause while trying to find the right way to ask what I want to ask.
“The research applications might align with your work on reptilian biology, and the environmental protection aspects offer meaningful application for both our skill sets.”
Becci’s expression shifts to the kind of focused interest she shows when encountering fascinating research opportunities. “What kind of reptile habitats?”
“Primary rainforest ecosystems with species diversity that includes multiple varieties of crocodilian populations.”
Her eyes widen like I’m reciting romantic poetry. “Indigenous species with adaptive characteristics that haven’t been studied in controlled laboratory environments?”
With a grin, I nod. “Exactly.”
She grins with obvious excitement about the research possibilities. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I want to combine my research with your security consultation. Yes, I want to study reptilian adaptations in their natural habitat. Yes, I want to continue building whatever this is between us in environments that accommodate both our professional needs.”
Red throws her hands in the air with exasperated delight. “You two are officially my most unorthodox success story ever. I’m adding you to my wall of successful matches, but you’re showering first.”
Dr. Lawson continues his systematic evaluation process. “Calvin, what specific security measures will you implement to ensure Rebecca’s safety during this Amazon expedition?”
Mrs. Lawson starts rattling off recipes for comfort food that will also maintain travel nutrition before thinking to ask if we’ll have access to proper cooking facilities in the jungle.
Margo demands detailed information about the tactical aspects of environmental protection while simultaneously planning to document everything for what she calls our “adventure archive.”
The overlapping conversations create the kind of chaotic family energy I’ve never experienced before. Military units develop camaraderie, but this is something different. These are people who care about each other enough to ask inconvenient questions and provide unsolicited support.
I pull Becci close while our respective support systems continue their enthusiastic interrogation and planning activities. Her warmth against my side feels like the most natural thing in the world, regardless of external chaos or future uncertainty.
“This wasn’t exactly the normal civilian life I thought I wanted,” I say while watching her father discuss research funding options with Red, who’s apparently prepared to provide small business loans for romantic expeditions.
“This is better than normal,” Becci says while leaning into me with comfortable certainty. “This is honest, complex, chaotic, and perfectly suited to two people whose lives don’t fit conventional patterns.”
As the sun sets while our found family continues planning our future adventures with characteristic intensity, I think about Dr. Martinez and her advice about civilian integration. She wanted me to find balance between my military background and normal relationships.
What I found instead is someone who appreciates both aspects of who I am and brings her own positives and complications. Normal is overrated when you can have honest, challenging, and surprisingly perfect instead.