Page 89 of Code Name: Grit

“You built this?” she asked, running her hand along the back of a leather armchair.

“Renovated it,” I corrected. “The original structure was here, but it was pretty rough. I did most of the work myself over weekends and leave time. Anything I couldn’t handle, I hired local craftsmen for.”

She explored slowly, taking in every detail. The open floor plan allowed the kitchen, dining area, and living room to flow together beneath the vaulted ceiling. A hallway led to the bedroom and bathroom, both modest in size but thoughtfully designed.

“The kitchen’s small,” I said, suddenly self-conscious about the space. “And there’s only one bathroom, but?—”

“I love it,” she interrupted, returning to stand by me. “It feels like you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like me?”

“Solid. Thoughtful.” Her lips curved into a smile as she stepped closer. “No wasted space or unnecessary flourishes, but beautiful in all the ways that matter.”

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, warmth spreading through me at her words. “You hungry? We should eat before I take my meds.”

She nodded and moved toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you show me where everything is?”

We fell into an easy rhythm, preparing a simple meal together. The domesticity of it struck me again—how natural it felt to move around each other in this space. I’d always viewed this house as a retreat, somewhere to escape when the job became too much. I never imagined sharing it with someone. Never imagined wanting to.

After dinner, we went out to the porch, where two Adirondack chairs faced the river. There wouldn’t be many more days warm enough to do this.

Twilight had begun to settle, painting the water in shades of purple and gold. Lumi curled into the chair beside mine, a light blanket draped over her legs.

“Tell me again about your recovery plan,” she said, her eyes on the distant shoreline.

“Six more weeks of physical therapy, then reassessment,” I replied. “Admiral’s put me on administrative leave until then. Tank’s handling field operations.”

“And after that?”

I heard the unasked question in her voice. “After that, I go back. If that’s still what you want.”

She looked at me then, brow furrowed. “What I want?”

“You told me once that K19 gave your life meaning. Purpose.” I reached for her hand. “I don’t want to take that from you.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You thought I might want you to quit?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. “After everything that happened—the panic room, the hunting lodge, my injury—no one would blame you for wanting a different life.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Drake Harrison, if you think I went through all that just to walk away, you don’t know me very well.”

“So you still want in? The danger, the uncertainty, all of it?”

“I do.” Her voice was firm, without hesitation. “For the first time in my life, I’m using everything I am for something that matters. I can’t give that up.”

I nodded, a weight I hadn’t realized I carried lifting from my chest. “Then, we return together. After I heal. Unless you want to go without me.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. Not for anything.”

“I like the sound of that. A lot.”

“And in the meantime?” she asked, her voice softening.

“In the meantime,” I said, lifting her hand to my lips, “we enjoy this. Us. Being normal people in a normal house with normal problems.”

Her laugh was warm in the gathering darkness. “I’m not sure either of us knows how to be normal.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

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