Sometimes it almost happens that way. The first time we met out here, seventeen days after Chek’s death, she kinda did fall into me. But that’s not how it happens this time. Or any time after that one time, to be honest. Because even though we both show up here and do what we do, it always ends with a fight.
She always hates me when she drives away.
My heart hurts when this happens, but my brain—the rational side of me? That part is always OK. Because even though she walks out, she takes the job I offered with her.
She doesn’t want to do the jobs, but Wendy is a lot of things. She is moody, bitchy, mean, ruthless, deadly. But she’s also a professional. And she always comes through for the jobs I give her.
Hold on, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking—Damn, Nick. That’s harsh. You’re using her for jobs?
And if I was really using her for that kind of job, I’d agree. It would be way more than harsh. It would be… unforgivable. But I am not asking Wendy to kill people when I send her out. It’s busy work. That’s it. She digs info for me. She keeps an eye on shit. And maybe she knows these jobs are fake, or maybe she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. These jobs are just how we keep in touch between Christmases and birthdays. I hand them over, she does them, sends me back the info I ask for, and we pretend this is all normal.
Wendy and I are very, very good at pretending.
I’m blocking the front door when Wendy approaches—and I do this on purpose. It’s a way to make her choose.
Does she want to hug me? Kiss me? Push me aside?
She pushes me aside. Squeezes past me and keeps walking deeper into the cabin. I turn and I’m just closing the door when she drops her backpack onto the counter. Then the pause.
There is always a pause.
A moment she takes to ask herself things like, Do I want to be here? Do I want to do this? Why, why, why do I even show up?
But it’s Christmas, not her birthday, and that means that if she wants to have a fight when she arrives, it will be a small one.
She turns, a smile on her face, and she says, “Hello.”
It’s always been about ‘hello’ with us.
I nod my head at her, cool like that, and walk into the kitchen. “Hello, yourself. Did you have a nice drive in?”
She shrugs. “It’s the road, ya know?”
Yep. I do know. “Are you hungry?”
She doesn’t answer me right away. Instead she looks around, spots the tell-tale signs and then sighs as she leans against the kitchen island and crosses her arms. “How long have you been here this time?”
I could lie. But I don’t want to lie. I want her to know. “Two weeks.”
She scoffs out her words. “Two weeks?” She blinks at me. “Why?”
“I like it.”
She goes quiet for a moment, then just shakes her head. “Well, I’m not staying. You told me to come, so I came. But I’m not staying.”
“Then where are you staying?”
“Your house.” She says this with a total straight face.
But I can’t stop my smile. “Is that right?”
“Mm-hmm. I figured… fuck it, right? You’re gonna stay at my house while I’m gone, I might as well stay at yours while you’re gone.”
I press my lips together and nod. “Seems fair to me.”
“So what do you want?”
“You.”
Her eyes go lazy. Almost a look of indifference or boredom.
But it’s not indifference or boredom.
It’s a challenge.
One I am definitely up for.
Making love to an assassin should always come with caution, and making love to Wendy Gale comes with a lot more than that. But I’m careful as I walk towards her and place my hands on her hips. She smiles at me. That’s the best part of every time we reunite. She’s so happy.
I love Happy Wendy.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
I reach up and drag a stray piece of hair away from her eye and tuck it behind her ear. She shakes her head, removes the carefully placed strand of wayward hair, and cocks her head at me. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
It comes out snappish. But she’s not being mean and she’s not angry. She’s just uncomfortable because we’re at a point now where decisions have to be made.
What are we?
Where is this going?
How in the hell will we ever be able to get there?
“You think way too much,” I say.
She grins and cocks a hip now. “At least I’m careful.”
Both of my hands rise—slowly—so I can cup her face. She stares up into my eyes, black pupils shining, and I see our past in my own reflection. “I’m careful.”
It comes out serious. More serious than I intended, but she gets it and her body relaxes. “So kiss me then. Let’s get on with it.”