Page 27 of The Angel and the Agent

“It’s my favorite meal of the day,” he said.

“Maybe you can tell me about Canada, in the vaguest possible terms,” she said.

“It was surprisingly hot, almost like I was at the equator,” he said.

“Funny how that seems to happen a lot in your line of work,” she said. They shared a smile and she snapped to attention. “Breakfast.”

“Right, breakfast,” he agreed. He motioned for her to walk in front of him and brewed a fresh pot of coffee when they arrived at the kitchen. Amelia set out the pastries and breakfastsandwiches she’d brought, enough to feed a half dozen more people.

“That’s a lot of food,” he noted.

“Better to have too much than not enough,” she returned. They sat and filled their plates, waiting for the coffee to finish. “How was your trip, really?”

“Exhausting,” he said.

“International travel is probably not as glamorous as I imagine,” she said.

“Not the way I do it,” he said.

“You look tired,” she said.

“Thank you?”

“I meant that in a concerned way, not a put down. Are you doing all right?” Her feet searched for a place to land on the tall uncomfortable bar stools that served as his dining chairs. He should really invest in some grownup, quality furniture one of these days. He took her feet and settled them in his lap, leaving his hand to rest lightly on her ankle.

“I’m doing all right,” he told her.

“Ethan,” she pressed.

He sighed. “It’s…I don’t know.”

“Stressful?” she guessed.

“Yes, but not in the way that you might think. When I was in the SEALs, it was stressful, but like ‘save the person’ stressful or ‘do the thing before the bomb blows up’ stressful. The new job is ‘do the thing for vague reasons and then get yelled at by a committee’ stressful.”

“You can quit and find a new job. With your skills, any indexing firm would be happy to have you,” she said.

“This is the path you’re supposed to follow when you leave the SEALs. Otherwise, why go?” he said.

“Who says? Make your own path. What’s your end game? What do you want to do? If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?”

“Coach football,” he blurted without thinking. “But not really. I mean, nobody does that for a living, do they?”

“Actually, a lot of people do,” she said.

“But I was a Navy SEAL. I worked unbelievably hard to get that position, and then I left it for a presumably better position. How crazy would it be to leave my current job to coach high school football?”

“What’s wrong with crazy? Do you know what my degree is in?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Actuarial science. I spent four years training to take on one of the highest paying jobs in the country. I took math courses that would bore you on name alone, dozens of them. I had five job offers at the start of my junior year. And then I walked away to color and blow dry hair for a living. But, guess what, I love doing hair and makeup. It brings me joy to help bring out the best in other people.”

“So you’re, like, crazy smart, in addition to everything else,” he surmised.

“Yep, I’m the total package,” she said, stealing a bite of his half-finished croissant.

“Hey, don’t poach my food,” he complained, reaching for her too-sweet coffee. He took his black, but occasionally he liked it loaded with cream and sugar, as hers was now. He drained her coffee and sat back. “What?” he asked when she continued to stare at him.

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