Page 31 of The Angel and the Agent

“What is the big deal about your hair? It always looks amazing,” he said.

“It’s supposed to. It’s sort of my calling card, and you are not helping at this moment.” She tried to swim away from him, but he pulled her back.

“Amelia, your hair could turn puce and fall out, and you’d still be the most beautiful woman I know,” he said sincerely.

She blew out a breath. “You’re making it really hard for me to maintain my irritation at you.”

“That’s sort of my calling card. I frustrate people to the point of murder and then charm them into loving me again,” he said.

“You’re super good at it,” she said. Still, she turned and headed for the side of the pool.

He grasped her hand and pulled her back again. “Why do you keep trying to get away from me?”

“Why do you assume everything is about you? I’m merely trying to stay alive here. We’re in the deep end, and I can’t tread water forever.” The pool was deep, eight feet where they were swimming

“I can,” he said and fastened her arms around his neck, holding them both afloat while he kicked.

“This is intimate,” she noted, but it wasn’t necessarily a complaint.

“This is nostalgic. I used to have to tread for hours,” he said.

“You miss being in the SEALs,” she said.

“Sometimes. I miss being a part of something, of being on a team.”

“You still have them,” she pointed out, gazing around the pool. “Theoretically,” she added when she realized they were alone. “Where did everyone go?”

“To see the new puppy,” he said. “You must have missed my text this week because you didn’t reply.”

“Our last conversation made me reevaluate a few things.”

“Me, for instance,” he said.

“No, our friendship. If I’m going to make a go of things with Piedmont, I need to prioritize.”

“So that’s it, we’re done?”

“Of course not. We’re still friends,” she assured him.

“Can we text and call?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“But we can’t get together and grab coffee,” he clarified.

“Friends can get together for coffee,” she said.

“So, what can’t we do?” he asked.

“Namely this,” she said as they swayed gently in the water, her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist.

“Swimming?” he guessed.

“You know what I’m talking about. The touching, the intimacy. The almost moments.”

“How does one stop an almost moment?” he asked.

“One never lets it begin in the first place,” she said.

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