Chapter 8 #2
“Nothing’s safe. But sitting in this house for a month isn’t operational security.
It’s prison. And eventually someone’s going to notice we never socialize.
” Destiny paused. “The whole point of this cover is looking normal. We’re supposed to be your family.
Your mother. A mother who wouldn’t miss a community event. ”
She had a point. Two weeks since the potluck. Two weeks of being hermits. Two weeks of declining invitations.
Yeah, sometime soon, someone was going to start asking questions.
Daphne looked at Asher. He’d been quiet. Watching. “What do you think?”
He set down his fork. “I did a check after we first moved in. It’s good. Cameras on all entrances. Only two exits. Easy to control. We’d be fine tonight.” He paused. Looked directly at her. “Then maybe we go. Show our faces. Play the happy family.”
Daphne wanted to argue. Wanted to say no. Wanted to keep control.
But she looked at Asher’s calm expression. Maybe she was overreacting.
Fine.
“If Asher says it’s okay, then we’ll go.”
Asher’s eyebrows rose slightly. Surprise flickered.
Then he smiled. Small. Genuine. Something warm in his eyes that washed all the way through her.
“Thank you,” Destiny said.
Roger just grunted.
A knock sounded at the door.
Daphne’s hand nearly went to her weapon, but hello, who did she expect? It was probably the notorious villain Ruthie with a batch of cookies.
Maybe Asher saw her jump, because he wore a tight smile, barely hidden under his coffee cup. She got up and checked the peephole.
Today, Ruthie wore purple yoga pants and a white T-shirt with Namaste written in flowing script. She held two travel mugs steaming in the November air.
Daphne opened the door, and a cool breeze rushed in, carrying the smell of someone’s fireplace and fallen leaves. “Morning, Ruthie.”
“Morning! I made too much coffee. Thought you might want some.” Ruthie held out a travel mug. “It’s hazelnut.”
Oh. Um. “Thank you.” She took one.
“Is Asher around? I could use some help moving some boxes the movers put on a high shelf, and I thought—”
“He’s finishing breakfast. Give him five minutes?”
“Perfect. I’ll wait here.” Ruthie settled onto the porch swing. Patted the seat. “Sit with me? Beautiful morning.”
Clear sky. Crisp air. Leaves turning gold and red. The kind of November morning that made Colorado famous.
Daphne sat. The swing creaked.
Ruthie pushed with her foot, setting them into gentle motion. “So. The fall dance tonight. You’re coming, right?”
What, did she have a tap on the house? “We’re thinking about it.”
“It’ll be fun. Live music. Dancing. Food. The whole community turns out.” Ruthie’s expression turned knowing. “You’ll get to show off that handsome husband of yours. It’s so cute how you two are so in love.”
Heat crept up Daphne’s neck. “Um—”
“Oh, honey, I’ve seen the way you look at him. And more importantly, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It reminds me of how David used to look at me.”
“How does he look at me?”
“Like you hung the moon. Like you’re the most important person in the world.” Ruthie sighed. “Young love is beautiful. How did you and Asher meet?”
Daphne wrapped her hands around her mug. The cover story. “I hired him to remodel my house. And then, you know…he asked me out. We finally went to dinner.”
“Beautiful. And then it was true love?”
For a second, her memory flashed to the moment, back at Millie’s—their real meeting, where yes, he’d saved the entire diner from disaster. The way he’d looked over at her. Thanks for the assist back there.
“Yes. We talked. For hours. I thought he was someone special. True love, from the first moment.”
The words just settled over her.
“You two are perfect for each other. I can see it. The way you trust him. The way he looks at you.” Ruthie’s expression turned wistful. “That’s what real partnership looks like.”
Ruthie’s gaze drifted past her, to the mountains.
“David died two years ago. Heart attack. Sudden. We’d just bought this place.
Were going to spend our retirement here together.
” She gave a smile, looked back to Daphne.
“But true love like that—it only happens once. You can’t let it go.
You can’t take it for granted. You have to hold on with everything you have because when it’s gone—” Her voice broke.
“When it’s gone, there’s nothing else like it. ”
Daphne stared at her coffee. At the steam rising. At her reflection distorted in the dark liquid. “Yeah. My mom and dad had a love like that.” She looked up, not sure why she was telling Ruthie this. Maybe she felt like an aunt.
Or just safe.
“She was devastated when Dad was killed. Never recovered, really. Never dated again. Never really laughed the same way either. Just grieved until the grief turned into cancer.”
“Oh, honey.” Ruthie’s hand found hers. Squeezed.
And for some reason, Daphne let her.
And couldn’t stop talking.
“She used to wait for him to come home every shift. Especially on day shift. Three p.m. She’d stand at the kitchen window, watching the street. Making dinner. Humming. Waiting.”
Until that one day. Three fifteen. Then three thirty. Then the police car. Then the chaplain. Then Mom’s scream.
Ten years of watching grief consume someone. Ten years of understanding
She looked at Ruthie’s hand on hers. “I was sixteen when he died. My mother died just a few years ago—cancer. I miss her. The way she smelled like vanilla and coffee. The way she’d hum while cooking. The way she’d wait at that window.”
Silence, and then Ruthie squeezed her hand. “Sounds like your mother was a treasure. And that she taught you what true love looks like. Loyal. Patient. Trusting.”
Daphne nodded. Let go of her hand. “I’m sorry. About your husband.”
“I’m grateful for the time we had. For the love we shared. Fifty-two years. Not everyone gets that.” She looked at Daphne with a wry smile. “But no matter how long you get, don’t waste it. Don’t take it for granted. Love like that is rare. Hold on to it with everything you have.”
Before Daphne could respond, the front door opened. Asher appeared.
“Morning, Ruthie.”
“Morning! Could you help me move some boxes? I’m trying to clean out a room for the holidays.”
“Glad to help.” He glanced at Daphne. “Okay?”
“Have at it, hero.”
He smiled and it was like sunlight poured into her soul.
“Perfect.” Ruthie stood.
Asher stepped off the porch, headed across the lawn.
“My goodness, Daphne.” She fanned herself. “Handsome doesn’t quite cover it.”
Heat flooded Daphne’s face.
She looked back at him. At the man who’d kept them safe for three weeks. Who’d proven himself over and over. “Hey, Ash!”
He stopped, turning in the grass, walking backward. She glanced at Ruthie, back to him. Cleared her throat. “Will you go to the dance with me tonight?”
His expression shifted. Surprise. Then something warmer. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
“Aw, you two are so cute,” Ruthie said.
Ruthie followed Asher to her house as Daphne headed inside.
Closed the door.
Leaned against it. Sheesh, her heart was pounding.
True love like that only happens once.
Don’t waste it.
Hold on to it.
Calm down. She wasn’t in love with Asher Morrison. This was an operation. A partnership. A cover story that would end in six days.
This wasn’t real.
But standing there with her heart pounding and the memory of Asher’s smile burned into her brain—Daphne couldn’t finish the thought.
Couldn’t lie to herself anymore.
She just might be falling for her fake husband.
So, maybe this wasn’t a terrible idea.
Asher scanned the community center. Fine, as expected—he’d checked it the morning they’d moved in, and once more after helping Ruthie with boxes.
Sweet lady. Had quizzed him about Daphne, told him that he’d found a “real sweetheart” in his wife.
That might be going a little far, but, yes, even in a world that wasn’t real, she was kind. Thoughtful.
And like Ruthie said, a good match for him.
Felt, in a way, that Ruthie could see through them, maybe knew the truth.
In fact, standing there doing a threat assessment while string lights twinkled overhead and the band played something cheerful and the smell of apple cider and cinnamon filled the air—this was the opposite of covert. This was a neon sign.
His biggest threat was standing beside him in a dark-green dress that made her eyes look impossibly bright.
Daphne.
Wow, she was pretty. With her auburn hair down, easy around her face, and just a hint of makeup, and curves—he’d seen them under her yoga pants, but that dress slid over her body in a way that suggested she’d left her holster at home.
Hence he’d worn his tactical pants, his weapon tucked away in a back holster.
So maybe she was trusting him too. Felt like it, ever since the interrogation two weeks ago.
The community center was decorated for fall.
Hay bales stacked near the entrance created rustic seating.
Jack-o’-lanterns lined the windowsills, candles flickering inside.
Long tables covered with orange tablecloths held potluck dishes—casseroles, salads, desserts, all labeled with names on index cards.
The band—four older men with guitars and a keyboard—played on a small stage. Country music mostly. Upbeat.
Cool November air drifted through open doors. The smell of woodsmoke mixed with cinnamon and apples and coffee. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink through the windows.
“This is nice,” Daphne said quietly beside him.
“Yeah. It is.”
The community center was packed. Approximately seventy people. Everyone he recognized from the neighborhood. He spotted Ellen and Craig near the punch bowl. Dean and his wife at a table. Mark Sullivan—arm still bandaged—sitting with Renee.
No one suspicious. No one who didn’t belong.
Roger stood against the wall. Arms crossed. Scowling. Destiny was already socializing. Elegant in a burgundy dress, talking to one of the single men from the next block over. Wayne Price, former lawyer. Widowed.
Good. The cover was working.