“Dead and buried. You?”
“Yeah.” She filled the pot with water, poured it into the machine, her back to him. He watched her hands, the way they fidgeted at nothing. She opened the fridge, stared at the empty shelves. “Breakfast options are limited.”
“Coffee’s fine.” Awkwardness in the air like last night’s smoke. “Thanks.”
Shannon closed the door, turned to face him. “Listen. About last night.”
“Nothing to say.”
“I just, I don’t want you to—It was a good time, and I needed it, but I’m not—It doesn’t change anything.”
“Hey, you got me into bed.” He smiled, let her know he was kidding. “It was good. Things have been tense. It was nice to just, you know, be normal for a night.”
She nodded. Picked up the discarded beer bottles from yesterday, dropped them in the recycling. Opened a drawer, then closed it.
Cooper said, “Why are you second-guessing me?”
Shannon looked up at him. “That the kind of thing that used to bug your wife? Telling her what was on her mind?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “You’re right. I am.”
“Because we got drunk?”
“Yes. Maybe. You’re different than I expected. And I’m just wondering if any of it is real.” Her gaze was unwavering and unapologetic.
Cooper turned and went to the Murphy bed. Grabbed the edge of the wrinkled sheets, shook them out and laid them smooth. Whacked the pillows, then tucked them in place. He wondered what Natalie would think of Shannon, whether they would like each other, decided that they probably would. “I grew up an army brat. Joined when I was seventeen. Then the agency. All that time, I was trying to fight for something. Trying to protect…everything, I guess. I was one of the good guys. And then when they pinned the bombing on me, I was alone. In a lot of ways I’d been alone my whole life, but this was different.”
He moved to the edge of the bed and folded it into the wall on smooth hinges. Turned to her, not sure where he was going even as he went. “The last months, I’ve been doing things I used to fight against. I’ve been one of the bad guys, and I’ve been good at it. So does that mean I was wrong before?” He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I liked protecting things. I miss it.”
“There are other ways,” she said. “Believe it or not, I feel like one of the good guys too. I am one of them.”
“Everybody is,” Cooper said. “That’s what makes life complicated.” He knew her well enough to pattern her. She was holding something back, lying to him at least by omission. What, though? Hard to say. And besides, he couldn’t blame her. He was lying to her, too.
Ain’t we a pair.
“Look,” he said. “Everybody’s got layers. Nothing’s simple. You thought I would be a humorless government operative without conscience or questions. And I thought you would be a two-dimensional fanatic who didn’t care about hurting people. Now you know that I have an ex-wife, that I love hot sauce, that I dance badly, that I’ve read Hemingway and even remembered some of it. And I know a few things about you, too. But there are things neither of us knows. Things we’re holding back.” He said it lightly. “And that’s okay, too. Doesn’t make anything less real. Especially,” he said, and rubbed at his temple, “my hangover. So how about we let things lie for now?”
For a moment she just looked at him. Then she opened a cabinet, took out two coffee mugs, filled them both. She handed one to him, and when their fingers brushed in the exchange, she didn’t jump. “I’m going to go clean up.”
“Okay.” He sipped the coffee, watched her walk to the bathroom.
She stopped at the door. “Cooper?”
“Yeah?”
“Pills in the drawer by the sink. For your head.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks.”
Two hours later they were three thousand feet up.