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The Color of Sky and Stone

By Sara Davison

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This might be the most foolish thing Lia Swanson had ever done. Yet another evening stuck in her hotel room would push her off the deep end, though. Even if the other members of her team didn’t agree, the risk was worth it. She settled on a wooden chair at a table in the back corner of the pub. In keeping with the Renaissance-era theme of the place, the restaurant was lit only by flickering sconces set every few feet along the walls. Perfect for someone trying to lay low.
The pub was full—humming with conversation and the clinking of cutlery against dishes—but none of the other patrons appeared to notice her. As she pushed back the hood of her sweatshirt, her eyes locked with the intense gray ones of a man in black jeans and a black T-shirt several tables away. Dale, head of her security force. He frowned but didn’t make any attempt to keep her from exposing her face, only swept his gaze around the room as she had done, assessing the threat level.
Low, from what she could tell. Her sister Eden, a journalist, had gotten held up while out on assignment, but she’d texted she would meet Lia here in a few minutes. Lia reached for the laminated menu, slick with a layer of grease, but stopped when a man sitting at the next table, his left side to her, caught her eye. He was eating alone, and Lia took a few seconds to admire the way his long-sleeved paisley dress shirt appeared to have been tailor made for his broad shoulders. With the side of his fork, he cut into a meat pie, and the rich aroma of beef and gravy mingled with the smell of deep-fried food hanging thick in the place. She breathed in the decadent combination greedily, like fresh air after bursting out of a house on fire.
The man shifted in her direction, and Lia grabbed for the menu. Her elbow caught the spoon lying near the edge of the table, sending it clattering to the floor.
Dale scowled. Several other people glanced over, and Lia slumped in her seat, propped her elbow on the table, and dug the tips of her fingers into her forehead.
“Excuse me.”
The guy in the paisley shirt had walked over to her table. The faint hint of cologne—an intoxicating combination of trees and earth—drifted from him, and Lia barely resisted the urge to close her eyes and just breathe it in. Her cheeks slightly warm, she shot a glance at Dale, who was watching them, coiled like a cheetah about to lunge at a grazing antelope. She shook her head slightly, which didn’t ease the tension in his body in the slightest.
Paisley man was tall, a few inches over six feet, and Lia tipped her head to see his face. He held up the spoon. “I’ll get you a clean one.”
“Oh no.” Warmth flooded Lia’s cheeks. “That’s not …”
The man was already gone, wending his way around tables to cut off the server who’d been heading their way. He said something to the young woman in the short skirt and a Tshirt with the pub logo on the front of it. She took the spoon from him before spinning around to return to the kitchen.
When the stranger started back toward her, Dale half rose, but Lia lifted her fingers from the table. He sank down but remained perched on the edge of the seat.
The man stopped next to her. “She’s bringing a clean one out for you.”
“You really didn’t need to do that.”
“It was no trouble. It’s a bit of a gamble using the cutlery in this place at the best of times. And the five-second rule definitely does not apply here.” He ran the toe of his gleaming leather Oxford over a sticky patch on the floor. Even in the dim lighting, his dark eyes held humor. No one who posed a serious threat would be able to conjure that, would they? And he didn’t seem to recognize her, which meant the disguise was holding up. When was the last time she’d had a normal conversation with someone who didn’t know or care who she was?
Without giving herself time to think about it, Lia pointed to the seat across from her. “Would you like to sit down?” She didn’t dare look at Dale this time, but it wasn’t necessary to see his face to know she would hear about this later.
The man hesitated. Had he been waiting for someone? A date, maybe? The warmth in her cheeks intensified, but before she could let him off the hook, he grinned. “Sure.” He pulled out the chair and sat.
The server bounded to their table, her blonde ponytail swishing from side to side. She zeroed in on the man across from Lia, which suited Lia fine. “Here you go.” She set the spoon in front of him, somehow managing to look perky even while performing that mundane gesture.
“Thanks.” The man spared her a brief glance before nudging the spoon across the table to Lia.
“Can I get you anything else?”
The young woman’s attention remained fully on him, and he finally gave in and looked up at her. Lia took the opportunity to contemplate him. His eyes were dark and his hair cut close to his head. A thin layer of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. His features were a devastating combination of Black and Asian, and Lia couldn’t fault the server for tripping all over herself.
“I’ve already eaten, but the lady would probably like to order something.” He inclined his head in Lia’s direction.
“Just coffee, please.” Given the grease on the menu and the fried food on every plate she could see, there likely wasn’t a single thing she could order here. She hadn’t come for the food anyway.
“Make that two.” The man smiled at the server, which lit her up like a Japanese lantern. “And would you mind bringing me a takeout container?”
“Sure. No problem.”
As the server traipsed away, Lia looked over at the table where half his food still sat on the plate. She winced. “I took you away from your dinner. I’m sorry.”
The man waved a hand through the air. “It’s fine. I wasn’t that hungry. Just …”
When he trailed off, she tilted her head. “What?”
“Tired, I guess.” He ran a hand over his eyes. When he lowered it, a shadow lurked behind the humor. The man carried a heavy burden. Did he have no one in his life he could share it with?
“Rough day?”
“You could say that. Have you ever been about to do something you know is right but will hurt people you care about?”
Lia didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then you know how I feel.”
“I believe I do.” Her choice of career had certainly hurt people she cared about, the aftereffects as destructive as a 6.0 magnitude earthquake.
He gazed at her a moment, a thin web of connection spinning between them, before straightening in the chair, as though he’d sloughed off whatever had momentarily weighed him down. “Enough about that.” He held out a hand. “I’m …
Victor.”
She slid her fingers into his. “Lia.”
Although he was ridiculously good-looking—and smelled exactly like she imagined the grounds surrounding those mansions in heaven must—Lia felt nothing when their eyes met above their clasped hands. No spark, at least. A twinge of compassion did squeeze her chest. After eating by himself, he’d spilled his heart out to a complete stranger. Which likely meant he knew how it felt to be completely alone, even in a crowded room.
Something else they shared.
He released her hand easily, as though he’d felt as little physical connection as she had, and leaned back as the server set a cup of coffee before each of them and an empty container in front of him. “Anything else?”
Victor glanced at Lia, and she shook her head. “That’s it, thanks.”
The woman must have gotten the message, finally, as she took off without attempting to engage him.
They kept the discussion light as they sipped their coffees. It felt comfortable, talking to him. If things were different with her, if her life wasn’t what it was, maybe the two of them could have been friends.
A rising murmur in the room drew her from the conversation, and she glanced around. Numerous other patrons were shooting looks at the two of them, and several held their phones in her direction. A woman shoved her way past a male server, nearly knocking him over. She appeared to be on a mission, headed straight for Lia. Lia scanned the restaurant, seeking the nearest exit.
When the woman had almost reached Dale, he stood, blocking her way. The woman attempted to push past him, and he shot out an arm to stop her. Victor followed Lia’s horrified gaze. For a moment he stared at the scene. Then he lasered in on her. The look she’d seen a thousand times washed over his face. Recognition. Panic followed hot on its trail.
He shoved back his chair. “I, uh, could you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course.” Her throat tight, Lia watched as he tossed several bills next to his half-eaten dinner before making his way around tables and through an arched doorway beneath a sign indicating the men’s room.
So much for a normal conversation with someone who didn’t know or care who she was.
The shimmering connection that had formed when she told him she understood how he felt stretched tauter between them with every step he took away from her. It was unlikely he’d be back, but something in her couldn’t stand to leave things the way they were.
Lia grabbed her bag, rooted around in it for a pen, then scribbled a few lines across the white paper placemat.
“What’s going on?”
She jerked at the sound of her sister’s voice, the pen sliding across the page to make an inch-long line under the last few words she’d written. No time to fix it. Lia signed her name and folded the placemat in half. “I just had an interesting conversation with a man, but he left to go to the bathroom, and I doubt he’ll return. Do you think you could give him this?” She folded the paper again until it was only a small square clutched between her fingers.
“How will I know him?”
Victor emerged from the arched opening and, without a glance toward the back corner, made an abrupt turn to the right, heading for the exit.
Lia nodded. “That’s him, in the paisley shirt.”
“On it.” Eden snatched the paper from her. “I don’t know what happened here, but you seem to have attracted a lot of attention. Go to the hotel with Dale. I’ll catch up with you there and the three of us can debrief.”
Which would not be a fun conversation. Still, leaving now, before the situation degenerated further, might be the first right move Lia had made all evening. As her sister hurried toward the exit, Lia stood and slung her bag onto her shoulder before lifting the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. Kind of like trying to blow out a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite, but it might help limit the damage as they left the building.
Although, given the storm raging in Dale’s eyes as she approached the head of her security team, it was a little too late for that.

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