One Last Job

by Anise Starre

“I know what I like.” She tries to hide her smile by spearing some chicken onto her fork and taking a bite. “Well, I hope you find her one of these days.” I wonder how long we’re going to pretend like I haven’t already.

I’ve developed an annoying new habit. Staring. Specifically, staring at Amber.

“You don’t have to do that around me, sweetheart.” I’m not going to dismiss you. I’m not going to make you feel like your wins don’t matter.

“The weather is going to be nice, though,” she says quickly. The redirect is obvious. “You should head out, see the sights. The London Eye is usually a good one in the sun.” The only thing I want to see in the sun is her.

She does, and the five minutes I spend listening to her passionately tell me all about the history of Parisian mirror making might just be five of the best minutes I’ve ever had in my life.

“It is a beautiful view though.” “Which one are you talking about now?” I feel, rather than hear, the quiet laugh that rumbles through his chest. “Assume I’m always talking about you, sweetheart.”

“So find it,” she says, looking me square in the eye. “Find your passion.” Can a passion be a person? Because right now she’s the only thing I feel strongly about. This beautiful, passionate, stubborn woman who doesn’t think twice about telling me what I really need to hear. I’d happily dedicate my life to making her happy if she’d let me.