Chapter 4
E than had no idea what time it was when he stumbled into his apartment and fell into bed. Four days in Morocco and two in Egypt had messed up his internal clock so badly that he wasn’t sure if it was day or night, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was sleep. He closed his eyes, and was immediately sucked into blackness.
Eleven hours later, he woke, yawned, and reached for his watch. It was early morning on a Thursday, an hour before his usual wakeup time. He should hit the gym, go for a run, something, but his body protested. After so many time zones in such a short amount of time with so little sleep thrown in, he would take this morning to rest and recoup. He’d have plenty of time for a run tonight, and possibly a workout, too.
Stumbling to the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee and then stripped and stepped into his shower, relishing the feel of hot water on his dirt-crusted skin. He wasn’t sure if he had showered since he left DC. His brain was so fuzzy he honestly couldn’t remember. His assignment, tailing an Egyptian ambassador, had turned from a cakewalk into a five-alarm fire when the man met with a known and wanted arms dealer. Instead of simple surveillance, Ethan had ended up in the middle of an international gunfight before ghosting back out of the country the way he’d arrived: unseen.
The last thing he wanted to do was go to work and have meetings and write reports about his time overseas. The bureaucrats would grill him, as they always did. Why couldn’t they understand things didn’t always go as well in real life as they did on paper? The lack of bureaucracy was one thing he missed about the SEALs. Back then he’d done the job and passed the buck to someone higher up to explain it. Now he was expected to speak for himself, and it was more stressful than he’d imagined it would be.
He stepped out of the shower, dried off, sniffed the towel, and tossed it in the laundry. The smell of coffee permeated his apartment, and he inhaled deeply, feeling more awake already. On autopilot now, he opened his drawer, reached for a pair of boxers, and stopped short. There were clothes in his drawer, but they weren’t his boxers. Reaching in farther, he withdrew a handful of lacy women’s underwear. Confused, he circled the room in slow motion, searching for an explanation. When none emerged, he walked to his closet and pulled it open. Where his clothes normally were instead hung tidy rows of little girls dress up clothes—tutus, fairy wings, and Cinderella dresses. A quick glance at the floor showed his shoes all gone, replaced by tiny sized dress-up heels in varying colors.
He stalked back to his other drawers and yanked them open. One was filled with bags of cotton candy, another with a tidy stack of bridal magazines. He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. Was he still asleep or, worse, hallucinating?
His phone buzzed with a text and he reached for it, startled by the unexpected sound. It was from Amelia, and a sinking feeling of dread began to grow in his stomach as he read.
I moved some things into your place to make way for Ethan Jr. Hope you don’t mind! XO, Baby Mama.
Where are my pants?? He texted in reply.
In answer, she sent a picture of his clothes with a ransom note. Bring two chocolate cupcakes to McPherson square at six PM or you’ll never see your pants again.
And if I don’t? he typed.
In answer, she sent him a gif of a blowtorch.
“She’s out of her mind,” Ethan said, setting the phone aside. What was he going to do? He had arrived home ahead of his suitcase and, even if he had it, all of his clothes were dirty. The only clothes in the house, besides the lace panties and dress up clothes, were the grimy items he’d worn home and slept in last night. He would have to put those on, go to the store, and buy new clothes to wear to work today. Downing his coffee so quickly he burned his tongue, he threw on his clothes from the night before—clothes that should rightfully be burned after all they’d endured, and jogged a few blocks down the street to a department store, buying a new outfit and a three pack of boxers in record time.
He arrived at work sweaty, rushed, and out of breath, not his usual casual and in-control demeanor for sure. He took a few breaths and pasted on a smile, but inside he was seething. She had gone too far, way, way, way too far. Breaking into his apartment, stealing all of his clothes and shoes, all of them , and then replacing them with little girl’s dress up clothes and fairy wings. He snickered a laugh, earning a few looks from the people he was sharing the elevator with. Pressing his lips together, he tried to reel it in, but it was too late. The more he thought about it, the funnier it became until, by the time he reached his floor, he was doubled over and laughing out loud. Not since he first joined the SEALs had someone hazed him so badly, and he loved it.
One thing about Amelia, she was never boring. For a guy who had a low threshold for sameness, she was a breath of fresh air. And she wasn’t trying because she liked him, because she wanted to be with him or impress him. She was doing it because it was who she was, because it was part of her makeup to be fun and ornery.
He pulled out his phone, snapped a pic of himself, and sent it to her with the caption, You owe me a hundred bucks for a new outfit.
She replied immediately. A hundred bucks for pants, shirt, tie, and underwear? You do your shopping at Hobo Jim’s Discount Clothing Club?
Who says I’m wearing underwear?
She sent him a gagging emoji. Your tie’s too short, BTW. The wide part should hit at your belt.
Is there no pleasing you, woman?
Pretty sure you know how good you look, no extra flattery from me needed, she replied and he smiled.
Maybe not needed, but always appreciated, he typed.
You look so good I…oops, my battery’s dying. Later.
Ethan tucked his phone back in his pocket with a smile that didn’t go away for most of the day.
Later, he met her at the park with the designated cupcakes. It had been a long, boring, stressful day of meetings, but all that faded away when he saw her standing beneath the statue, waiting patiently for him.
“Did you bring them?” she asked as he approached.
He held the bakery box so she could see it. “Where are my clothes?”
“You’ll get them when the time is right,” she said.
He tucked the box back against his chest. “Then maybe you won’t get these.”
She held her phone aloft, her thumb in the middle of the screen. “One signal from me, and your clothes get it.”
He thought she was joking, but, knowing her as he was beginning to, he wouldn’t put it past her to follow through and torch his wardrobe. He handed her the bakery box. She opened it and inhaled. “Thank you.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy the cupcakes yourself?”
“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” she asked. “I’ll see you.” She turned to go, but he caught her wrist and yanked her back.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go, I have a thing.”
“Now?” he asked. “I just got here.”
She checked the time on her phone. “I can give you ten minutes.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” he said. They sat on a bench. She opened the box and held out it out to him.
“Cupcake?”
Shrugging, he took one and she took the other. “So, how was your day?” she asked, clinking her cupcake against his in a toast before peeling off the wrapper to eat it.
“It was a day.” Now that he was here, sitting on a bench with her and eating cupcakes while the sun shone and birds chirped, he had trouble remembering what had been so bad about his day. ”How was yours?”
“Super. I’m officially off probation now,” she said.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means I can start making real money without having to give most of it to the salon. It means I can acquire my own clients without being assigned whoever comes up in the queue. It means more chance for advancement, for establishment, for permanency. The chance for better hours, having more autonomy over my schedule.”
“It kind of sounds like all your dreams are coming true,” he said.
“Pretty much,” she agreed, smiling happily as she licked a dab of frosting off her fingers.
Ethan got caught up for a minute staring at her. She was incredibly beautiful, but it was more than an outward appearance that attracted him. She shimmered with confidence and good cheer. She might only be twenty two, but she knew who she was and where she was going, something that made her exceptionally appealing.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked when he remained mutely holding the cupcake. Snapping to attention, he peeled the wrapper and devoured it, and then stared at his messy, frosting covered fingers.
Amelia withdrew a tissue from her purse and, instead of handing it to him, leaned closer and wiped his fingers, cleaning him as if he were a little boy. When she was finished with his fingers, she wiped his lips and, smiling, patted his cheek.
“There you go, you’re all set,” she said.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” Ethan blurted.
She leaned away from him and sat back. “I can’t, I have a date with Piedmont.”
“How can you date a man named Piedmont? What do you call him for a nickname, Piedy? Monty?”
“Why does he have to have a nickname?” she asked.
“Because when you care about people, you give them a nickname. Look, I’ll show you.” He pulled out his phone and drew up her number.
“Melly,” she read. “That doesn’t make sense. My name is AMElia, not AMELLia,” she said.
“The person who is being nicknamed does not get to determine her nickname and, sometimes when I think of you, I think of you as Melly. So there you go.”
“There’s no good way to nickname Ethan, either,” she informed him.
“Ethan’s not my real name,” he said, and she sat up in surprise.
“What?”
“It’s my handle because I’m from Vermont. You know, Ethan Allen. Guy who gave it to me was some kind of freak history buff. But it stuck hard, and that’s what everyone calls me. Even at my new job.”
“What’s your real name?” she asked.
“Only true insiders know, only the people in my most inner circle, the people I care about a great deal.” He paused. “It’s Becket.”
“That’s only one of my most favorite names in the entire world,” Amelia exclaimed.
“Yeah?” Ethan asked, smiling.
She nodded. “I always thought…” she broke off, embarrassed.
“You always thought what?” he prodded.
“I always thought if I had a son, I would name him Becket,” she admitted a bit shyly.
“What about Ethan, Jr.?” he asked.
She smiled and checked her phone. “I really have to run. Thanks for this, it was nice.”
“It was nice,” he agreed. “And where are my clothes?”
“They’re already back at your apartment. I had to distract you so my accomplices could return them.”
“What accomplices?” he asked.
“Shh,” she said, touching her finger to her lips. Then she kissed her finger and touched it to his forehead. “Later, Ethan Becket.”
“Later, Amelia Melly. Have fun with Piedy.”
“The fun goes with me wherever I am,” she told him.
“I believe it,” he said, his eyes following her long after she walked out of sight.