The days were bearable because she could keep busy. At first it had been a lot of physical therapy, then her long walks, and talks with the agency about her future.
But the nights were something else altogether. Loneliness like she had never known haunted her, unrelenting loneliness that was compounded by a thousand regrets, even more self-castigations and uncertainties, and by the resurrection of more memories. The memories were beautiful and devastating, but the loneliness was worse, and it got so she dreaded going to bed at night.
Even though her leg was stiff, stretching and her long walks were helping immensely, as well as the yoga. She found it helped her wayward mind to quiet for a while. Her gunshot wound to the abdomen was just a twinge or two of a memory. She was going to have a dime-sized scar on her side and one on her upper thigh, but full range of motion as the outcome was well worth it.
She had been using a cane, but today after she got dressed and reached for it, she hesitated. She was going to get through the day without it.
She took the stairs with gusto and was happy that her upper thigh barely hurt. When she entered the kitchen, she glanced at the clock on the back of the stove, then turned to the cupboard to get a mug, needing her first morning jolt of caffeine. Through the window above the sink, she caught a glimpse of her gran on her hands and knees in her herb garden. That woman was still an early riser.
As soon as she got breakfast out of the way, she would go for another long walk. And as soon as she got back to the house, she would call Neo and invite him over for dinner. With her insides in knots, she poured herself a cup of coffee, unable to stop worrying her decision around and around in her head.
The door opened and her gran came inside. She always marveled at Jennifer Steele’s youthful look. She hadn’t changed much, but everyone had always called her Granny Steele, and that would stick. Chry was her spitting image right down to the premature gray hair.
“Tell me the coffee’s hot and that you would love some blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”
Dragging her mind back from her thoughts regarding Neo, Chry turned to face her gran. She managed a smile. “The coffee’s hot, and who could turn down your delicious pancakes?”
Her gran came over to the cupboard and poured herself a cup, her gray hair a tumble around her shoulders. She had on a pair of dirty overalls over a white T-shirt. Yet, in spite of their mussed look, her gran wore her clothes with a style that gave a hint of sophistication to her wholesome, long-legged naturalness.
Chry studied her gran’s profile finding very few fine lines. The woman was ageless.
Except for Chry’s amber eyes, she and her gran could be sisters.
But they weren’t, of course. This was the woman who had saved her from foster care when her mother died from an overdose. Chry barely remembered her mother, but the pictures on the walls of the home gran had made told the story of a bright and talented teenager who had succumbed to the wrong crowd. Married the wrong man and ended up dead at too early an age.
“You still pining over that boy?”
“I’m thinking about him. I wouldn’t call it pining.”
“You looked like you were off in outer space.”
“You aren’t that far off.” There was an undertone of wry amusement in her voice. “Should I start the pancakes?”
Her gran took a long sip of her coffee, set down the mug, and rolled her shoulders. “No, I’ll do it. Get out the fresh blueberries, would you?”
Chry bent down, glad her leg was feeling so good, and pulled out an electric griddle from the bottom cupboard, then slid it onto the counter. “I can do the bacon.”
Her gran smiled. By the time the sizzling of the bacon in the pan had stopped, her gran had the batter made and the griddle preheating. Her gran winked at her with a twinkle in her eyes, exuding an energy level that hardly ever faltered.
“What would you like for lunch? I can make you some soup. I have fresh basil.”
Chry whirled. “No, Granny, please, I beg you. No more chicken soup.” She had to take a breath and calm her breathing.
“I thought you loved my chicken soup?” Gran said with a bemused expression.
“I do, but gallons of it can get a bit old.”
She chuckled. “I take your point. I just wanted you well.” Her voice cracked a bit.
Chry was across the kitchen, wrapping her arms around her gran.
“I know. You were scared. But I’m fine. Your gallons of chicken soup worked wonders.”
He gran huffed a watery laugh and sniffed. “I was worried to my bones. I couldn’t get any answers.”
Chry still couldn’t tell her gran that she was CIA. She thought she worked for the state department, which was partially true, and that she had been kidnapped by rebels and held for ransom and 2-Stroke had saved her. She did tell her that he’d been shot.
“Oh, get on with you. The bacon will burn.”
She turned away and wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath. Flipping the pancakes that she’d poured onto the griddle, her gran held back a smile, but her eyes twinkled. “What do you want for lunch then?”
The doorbell chimed and Chry breathed a sigh of relief.
“Saved by the bell?” Gran asked.
Casting her an amused look, Chry left the kitchen and limped to the door. “I’m expecting a delivery,” Gran called from the kitchen.
“I think it’s too early for—”
Her heart lurched to a stop when she pulled open the door, and she closed her eyes, sure her mind was playing tricks on her.
He looked so good. Healthy and whole, his hair shorter, his face shaved, those beloved features as handsome as ever.
“I know,” he said, shifting a little, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “I should have called first.”
“Neo,” she said breathlessly.
Suddenly her legs trembled beneath her, and she had to grasp the door for support, her heart hammering so hard she swore he could hear it. Then a wave of joy slammed through her. She launched herself at him and he stumbled back at the force of her embrace, catching her with his strong arms, his hard body feeling so good against hers.
“You okay, babe?”
She tightened her arms around his neck and nodded, focusing on the warm scent of him, the weight of his arms around her. Those were real and solid. And secure. He held her for a long time, rubbing her back, talking nonsense to her. Finally, he loosened his hold and swept her hair back and tipped her face up. His expression was open and tender as he bent his head and kissed her—one of those long, open-mouthed kisses that made her senses swim and her body go weak. And Chry sank into it, tears seeping out from beneath her lashes, not sure how this was all going to work out, but sure she was not going to let him go again.
Dragging his mouth away, 2-Stroke pressed his face against her neck and hugged her. “Can we talk?” he whispered gruffly. He kissed her again.
Shaking and laughing because she was so glad to have him back, she hung onto him with every ounce of strength she had.
He slid his fingers into her hair and drew her head against him, then began stroking her jaw. “Ah, babe,” he whispered. “I fucking missed the hell out of you.”
“Granny’s making blueberry pancakes.”
“Damn right, I am. Get your butt in here and close that door. I’m not heating up the outside.”