15. Taking Our Time #2
We start with pintxos, bite-sized skewers that disappear quickly enough that we order more, then start choosing hot and cold tapas to share.
Hope reaches for the same plate I do. Our fingers touch. Neither of us moves away immediately.
Her eyes lift to mine.
There’s something different between us today.
It was there in Vegas, but everything around us was danger and adrenaline. Every look carried something else with it.
Here, there’s nowhere for it to hide.
She takes the last bite from the plate.
“You hesitated.”
“I was being polite.”
“You lost.”
“Won’t happen again.”
Her smile widens.
We order paella too, rich and packed with flavor, and somewhere between that arriving and Hope stealing another bite from my side of the table, I realize we’ve stopped talking about HAVEN altogether.
She tells me about Stanford, about the cybersecurity research she’s doing there and the work she’s already been helping HAVEN with. About Mercy. About what she wants to do when her life stops being the subject of operational briefings.
I tell her about Canada, the military, jumping out of perfectly functional aircraft and the three idiots currently wandering around San Francisco without me.
“Do you miss it?”
“The military?”
She nods.
“Parts of it. The people mostly.”
“What about the rest?”
I look out across the Bay.
“I liked knowing what I was there to do.”
“And now?”
I turn back to her.
“Still figuring that out.”
Her expression softens.
“Victor might have some ideas.”
I laugh. “That sounds ominous.”
“You’ve met Victor.”
“Exactly.”
She laughs with me, and I find myself seeing her differently now.
In Vegas, keeping her alive had occupied every thought. Mercy being her sister had added another layer of responsibility.
Sitting across from her now, all of that falls away.
She’s simply Hope.
Smart, funny, stubborn Hope, sitting across from me with sunlight catching in her hair and a half-finished plate between us.
She catches me looking.
“What?”
“Just admiring the view.”
Her eyebrows lift. “The Bay?”
I hold her gaze. “Sure.”
I lean back in my chair.
“You’re different today.”
“So are you.”
“How?”
She considers me.
“Less commander.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Her foot brushes mine beneath the table.
This time, I know damn well it isn’t accidental.
“You’re still watching the doors.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“And me.”
I hold her gaze.
“That’s not.”
The teasing fades from her expression.
The restaurant carries on around us, conversation and laughter mixing with the sounds from the waterfront outside.
Hope’s foot stays against mine.
“So,” she says quietly. “What are we doing after lunch?”
I look at her. There are about a dozen answers I could give.
Judging by the look in her eyes, she already knows which one I want.
“Whatever you want.”
Her smile comes slowly.
“Careful, Forest.”
I smile back.
“Not feeling particularly careful anymore.”
Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. 1530 hours.
Hope takes me to the Botanical Garden after lunch.
I’m starting to suspect she has an entire afternoon planned and simply neglected to tell me.
“You know where we’re going next, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s a yes.”
She smiles. “You said I could show you San Francisco.”
“I did.”
“So stop interrogating your tour guide.”
“I asked one question.”
“You have a very interrogative face.”
I laugh and follow her along the path.
The city seems farther away in here. We walk beneath trees from places I’ve never been, past gardens Hope knows far more about than I do, although I’m beginning to suspect she’s making some of it up.
She points toward a plant with enormous leaves.
“Very rare.”
“What is it?”
“Green.”
I look at her.
She keeps a straight face for maybe two seconds, until she spots a sign and reads from it. “Ficus macrophylla.”
“Stanford graduate student,” I say. “Impressive.”
“Cybersecurity. Plants aren’t my field.”
“Clearly.”
Her laugh follows us down the path.
We’ve been walking for a while when she finds a quiet bench tucked away from the busier paths.
Hope sits. I take the spot beside her.
I checked before we came in. Nobody followed us from Pier 5. Our phones and Beacons are on, and there’s been nothing from HQ.
Hope stretches her legs out in front of her.
“This is nice.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean today.”
I look across at her.
“So do I.”
She studies her hands.
“I needed this.”
The humor has slipped from her voice.
I wait.
“Everybody keeps looking at me like something terrible happened.”
“Something terrible did happen.”
“I know.” She looks at me. “But I’m still me.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“I don’t want what happened in Vegas to become the most interesting thing about me.”
“It isn’t.”
Her eyes hold mine.
“You barely know me.”
“Getting there.”
A smile touches her mouth.
“Slowly.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
Something changes in her expression. She looks away toward the gardens, and her hand settles on the bench between us, close to mine.
I turn my hand over and brush my fingers against hers. Hope looks down, then slides her hand into mine. Her hand is warm, her fingers fitting easily between mine.
I’m sitting beside her without having to protect her, direct anyone or think three steps ahead.
I can simply be here with her. I like it far too much.
Hope leans lightly against my shoulder.
“You know, for someone who jumps out of airplanes, you’re taking your time here.”
I turn my head toward her.
“Thought you wanted slowly.”
“I said slowly. I didn’t say stationary.”
I laugh.
“Bossy.”
“You like it.”
“Starting to.”
She lifts her head. We’re close enough now that I can see the challenge in her eyes.
I raise our joined hands and press a kiss to the back of hers.
“Still taking it slow?”
“Forest.”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
I don’t need telling twice.
I lean in and kiss her. It starts softly, because despite what she just said, I’m not rushing this. Then Hope’s free hand slides around the back of my neck and she kisses me again.
That changes things.
I turn toward her, my hand finding her waist as her lips part beneath mine. The kiss deepens, warm and unhurried, and I forget about everything beyond this bench.
When we finally separate, Hope stays close.
There’s a twinkle in her eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
Her forehead rests against mine.
“Well,” she murmurs.
“Well?”
“I was wondering if Vegas had messed with my judgment.”
I smile. “Verdict?”
She kisses me again, quick this time.
“Nope.”
I laugh and settle back against the bench.
Hope moves with me, tucking herself against my side, and I take her hand again.
Tonight, Jax and Matthias are going back into that tower for Thandiwe. Tomorrow will bring whatever comes next.
But Hope is beside me, safe and smiling, her fingers linked through mine.
Whatever this is between us, we don’t have to decide today.
We’ve got time.