Ninja At First Sight (Knitting in the City, #4.75)

by Penny Reid

I supposed I was odd in this way. Situations that typically made other people uncomfortable or angry or offended were of intense interest to me.

I’d always been an observer of human nature, more content to sit back and watch than get involved, but I suspected my upbringing was the root cause. I never had many friends because I’d had very few opportunities to make friends. Social interaction, social order, and social norms and dynamics were a mystery to me.

Mostly, I kept to myself; watching, considering, unobtrusively attempting to solve the mysteries of those around me, and trying to soak up every day.

Being alone in a sea of strangers didn’t trouble me. I didn’t crave social interaction, but I truly enjoyed watching people. I was enormously grateful for the freedom of finally living away from home, for being around people who didn’t know me and therefore didn’t look at me like I was breakable or about to explode or didn’t understand that brain tumors aren’t contagious.

More likely my reticence was because I typically enjoyed watching people more than I enjoyed actually speaking to them.

“I don’t know, what do you call a female astronaut?” My voice mimicked the robotic quality of his. “An astronaut, of course,” he said, sounding suddenly offended—again, in that way only the British can affect—he shook his head like he was disillusioned with me. “For shame, Fiona. Your misogyny is showing.”

I began to suspect that he said virtually everything in that dry tone, one employed by the innately and perpetually sarcastic, those who are too witty for their own good. It was very rapid fire, Sherlock-Holmes-esque. Usually my younger sister used that voice on my mother as a coping strategy.

“Not everyone is capable of fighting the great fights. Not everyone is brave and strong and powerful. Let people have their causes. Allow them their victories, when victories can be had, without begrudging the wrongs that they right. Attending to injustice, no matter how small, is always a worthy cause.”

Obsessing about mistakes was counterproductive to success. I always learned from my mistakes. Then I moved on.

But instinct told me Greg wouldn’t be easy. As well, my feelings for Greg felt meaningful, messy, heady, intricate, and not entirely safe. He was not safe. Caution and sense told me that eventually these feelings would make me do something stupid, turn me into a fool, act against my best interests and better judgment.

still flat but his eyes dancing with mischief, “and you’ve never dated. This is my chance to ruin you for anyone else.” “By telling me all about how terrible you are?” “By being honest. By playing no games. When I tell you that I’m a selfish bastard, I mean it. And when I tell you that you’re wonderful and amazing and stunning and definitely the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, you’ll know I mean that, too.”

“First of all, you’re assuming women—or most women—intend to steal men from other women. You paint a very unflattering picture of women—sneaky, underhanded, selfish—and I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t think most women behave that way or have those thoughts. Most women are not conniving.”

Greg is a person, not a spoon, or a saucepan, or a tea cup. He can’t be stolen. Men aren’t stolen. They’re responsible for their own actions and decisions—staying with a woman is a decision. Straying or leaving is a decision. You make it sound like men are mindless, powerless to temptation.” She snorted. “In my experience, they are.” “Then you’ve known only weak men. And weak men deserve conniving women.”

I was practical enough to be concerned by this realization. I couldn’t allow Greg to become my whole world. I needed friendships. He’d chased my melancholy away with his kisses and touches, and of course I’d enjoyed every minute of it. But reason told me it would be a mistake to allow anyone—even Greg—to be the master of my happiness

It wouldn’t be fair to him, to burden him with all of my woes, wishes, and conversation. And it wouldn’t be fair to me.

hadn’t seen it straight away, it was so obvious. I think his smiles affected me so much because of the depth of the person behind them. He was… a force. Often overwhelming. Always captivating. Crooked or not, scarred or not, his grins were lethal, made my neck hot and my stomach flip—Every. Single. Time.

“The beauty of human relationships is sharing burdens?” “More or less. But burdens don’t grow lighter if both people are contributing equally. Life isn’t a fifty-fifty split, that’s just being lazy. Burdens are weightless, worlds change, and love endures when both people are contributing their maximum.”

“Because if it’s possible to have a partner who gives all of themselves without reservation, who looks forward to working and sacrificing for me just as I look forward to doing the same for her, who can’t help but love ferociously, brutally, and unconditionally—and even perhaps without reason or sound judgment—that’s what I want. Because that’s how I plan to love in return.”

He opened his mouth, saying nothing, but giving me a pleading look. Please, the look said. Please let me set down your mother. Please let me harass her and make her cry. Please allow me to make her feel terrible about herself.

Fern informed me that she considered my eyes to be my best physical attribute. “They’re soulful and sad, intelligent and welcoming. They make me want to give you a hug, and anticipate the hug I’ll receive in return.”

I held very still, hoping… hoping something, like the ground would open up or a dinosaur on a spaceship would magically appear. Unsurprisingly, the dinosaur let me down. Disappointing dinosaur is… disappointing.

“I respect you,” he continued fervently, his hot breath raising goosebumps on my skin and butterflies in my stomach. “I want to support you, I want to sacrifice for you, to forgive you, to cherish you. I want to be unconditional with you…”