Salt Kiss (Lyonesse #1)

eight

Two days after we get back from Bishop’s Landing, I take the elevator up from the security office to the top floor, doing my morning check-in with the object of my blooming obsession.

For some of the meetings Mark takes, he wants me in the room or just outside it; for some, he doesn’t want the presence of security to upset whatever delicate transaction is about to take place. And yet for others, he wants me visible down on the server floor, a human manifestation of how safe a secret will be at Lyonesse. Each day is slightly different, but I don’t mind because each day is set by what he needs, and so there’s a reassuring logic to that. All I need are my orders, and I’ll march wherever I’m told.

Today I’m also holding a cappuccino fresh from the club kitchens because I noticed on our trip to Bishop’s Landing that it’s Mark’s morning drink of choice. Which surprised me a little—I suppose I expected a precisely pulled shot of espresso or even just black coffee, the lifeblood of the U.S. military machine. But a cappuccino takes time to make, time to drink. It invites stirring and savoring. Hardly the drink of a former special activities officer.