Page 37 of Spring L.A.W.
He chuckled and stepped back, descending the stoop like a man very aware that he'd just won.
“Goodnight, Rayna.”
She watched him go until he turned the corner, then whispered into the cool night air, “Goodnight, Major Payne.”
And maybe, just maybe, she’d allow herself to smile all the way up the stairs.
11
Rayna awoke to the smell of caramelized onions and garlic and thought,Huh. Either I’m dead, and Summerland is my Brooklyn kitchen, or my man-pets are making brunch again.
She shuffled in barefoot, wrapped in a hoodie that may or may not have once belonged to Daniel. It had suspiciously roomy sleeves and a faint whiff of bergamot. The kitchen was already a warm haven with sunlight pouring through the windows, jazz humming in the background, and two men who looked way too coherent for this early on a Saturday.
Michael stood at the stove, plating what looked like a frittata so perfectly fluffy it could have levitated. Daniel poured her coffee just the way she liked it. Black, no sugar, and in the mug that saidWitch, please…
“Good morning, Highness,” Daniel said, handing her the cup with a little bow. “We hope you survived your high-stakes dinner with the man formerly known as Major Buzzkill.”
Michael slid a plate in front of her with a flourish. “Your frittata with bonus roasted veggies and sautéed greens, because we love you and also you stress-eat.”
Rayna took a sip of coffee and sighed. “If I ever betray you two, just smother me with a rosemary focaccia.”
“We’ve already discussed it,” Michael said, sitting down beside her. “Daniel gets to hold the bread.”
Rayna laughed, tucked one foot beneath her, and took a bite of frittata. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”
Both men perked up like cats hearing a can opener.
She gave them a look. “Noteverything. But enough.”
They leaned in with twin expressions of gleeful anticipation.
“So,” she began, “he didn’t kidnap me, threaten me, or show up in combat boots. We had dinner at a ridiculously charming bistro. He wore linen. There were tablecloths and a string quartet.”
Michael blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘linen’? As in business casualcivies?”
“I know,” Rayna said, stabbing a piece of roasted sweet potato. “I’m still emotionally processing it.”
Daniel sipped his coffee, a serious expression on his face. “So, was this dinner-dinner or spy-dinner?”
“Dinner-dinner,” she said. “With wine. And jokes. And talking. Real talking.”
Michael squinted at her. “Did he replace the real Major Payne with a decoy? Are we sure he’s not a clone?”
“Pretty sure,” Rayna said. “He smiled more than once. He even laughed.”
Daniel clutched his chest. “My god. Hefeelsthings now.”
Rayna rolled her eyes, but her smile was giving her away. “He walked me home. We kissed on the stoop. It was… Ugh, don’t make me say it.”
Michael and Daniel leaned in like birds of prey.
“…Nice,” she finished.
Daniel flung a dish towel over his shoulder. “Our little witch is growing up. Kissing trained assassins under gas lights.” He dabbed at fake tears with the dish towel.
Michael raised his coffee in salute. “Just promise, if you get married, you’ll let me pick the playlist for the reception. I have a folder titledSongs to Slow-Dance with a Serial Killer To.”
“Ugh. There are so many things wrong with that sentence.” Rayna stood and collected their empty plates, then grabbed the dish towel and swatted them both as she passed. “If I ever get married, you two are officiating. And wearing matching velvet suits.”
