Page 45 of The Hitman’s Final Job

I laugh, because this is the most Rowan question ever. “I’m not celibate.”

“Then what?”

“Meeting people isn’t a priority,” I say. “My schedule … it’s not easy to maintain anything when you’re traveling constantly.”

“You travel too much.”

“I know.”

“You need a base,” he says.

“I have a base. It’s Atlanta.”

“Living somewhere just because of the airport isn’t the same as having a home.”

My mind fills with images of a farmhouse kitchen with herbs on the windowsill, my new wooden bear on a shelf, and a coffeepot that’s always full when I come downstairs.

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”

The next rapid takes us before he can push it further.

Lunch is on a flat rock beside the river. The sun is warm enough that we’ve peeled back the tops of our wetsuits. Hux produces food from a dry bag; it’s surprisingly tasty. We eat and watch the river while Rowan tells me a story about Mrs. Collins, his next-door neighbor, who keeps wanting to set him up with her friend’s granddaughter.

I tell him about the zucchini I’ve been trying to grow in a container on my rooftop for eight months, and he laughs until he has to put down his sandwich.

“A zucchini in a container,” he says.

“Yep.”

“On a rooftop.”

“It’s a good rooftop,” I protest. “It has plenty of light and the perfect amount of shade.”

“Silas.” He stares at me. “You know who else talks about zucchini?”

I don’t need him to say it to know what the answer is.

“My dad,” he says. “My dad talks about zucchini. You’re as nerdy about farming as my dad, and you’re thirty-five years old.”

“You’re thirty,” I say. “That’s not that much younger.”

“It’s five years,” he says. “And I can say that not once in my adult life have I ever thought seriously about zucchini.”

“You’re missing out.”

He shakes his head, still laughing, and finishes his drink. I’ve missed this easy back-and-forth between us so much.

We dance with more rapids after lunch, following the river’s lead as it throws our raft one way and the other. In the sections of calm, we’re quiet too, admiring the stunning scenery around us.

When we arrive at the pull-out, Hux’s van and trailer are waiting for us. Rowan must see the question on my face because he tells me that Hux uses a company to move the van for him.

The three of us carry the raft up the bank and load it onto the trailer, and by the time we’re done, my whole body is feeling the unusual level of exercise and my face is tight from the sun and the spray.

A moment later, Chris shows up in Rowan’s car.

“We made a different arrangement today. Usually it’s a bigger group, but I wanted it to be just us,” Rowan explains. “Chris will drive back in the van with Hux, and we’re camping for the night. My tent is in the car already.”

Chris exits the car and throws the keys at Rowan. “I left you with sandwiches, drinks, snacks, and a thermos of coffee.”