But hisI got thisthrummed inside him.
The waiter returned to take their order. Skeet stared at the menu. Half the dishes were in Thai with English translations that didn’t help much. “What is ‘coconut-lemongrass chicken ballotine with galangal velouté, kaffir lime oil, and compressed cucumber’?”
Chloe laughed. “You know what?” she said, looking over her menu. “Let me handle this.” She switched to Thai with thewaiter, gesturing between them and pointing at various items on the menu.
“What did you just order for us?” he asked when the waiter left.
“Trust me. I got us thetom yum goongto start—shrimp soup, but not too spicy. Then green-papaya salad, and for the main course, massaman curry with beef and pineapple. It’s mild, rich, and delicious.”
“You speak Thai?”
“I’m about as fluent as a three-year-old, but I can get by. You pick things up.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t order anything weird. No fish eyes or chicken feet.”
“My hero,” he said. Then he leaned over to her. “And for the record, you’re not getting me in over my head. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
She went quiet for a long moment. Her fingers traced the base of her wineglass while she stared out at the lights scattered across the valley below.
“I was thirteen. My little sister, Hannah, had been missing for four years, and my parents were... broken. My mom spent most days in bed, my dad threw himself into work, and Selah and Jake and I were trying to hold everything together.” Pause. A sip of wine. “I decided I was going to find Hannah myself.”
“At thirteen years old?”
“Thirteen and convinced I was smarter than the police, the FBI, everyone who’d been looking for her. I researched missing children cases, followed leads online, convinced my friend’s older brother to drive me to interview a man who claimed he had information about Hannah.”
The waiter brought their appetizers—a bowl oftom yum goongthat sent aromatic steam curling between them, fragrant with lemongrass and lime leaves. The green-papaya saladarrived alongside it, bright and fresh, with julienned vegetables and crushed peanuts.
“Try the soup first,” Chloe said, ladling some into his bowl. “It’s perfect comfort food after the day we’ve had.”
He took a tentative sip. The broth was complex—sour, spicy, and rich with shrimp flavor, but not overwhelming. “Okay, that’s incredible. How did you know I’d like this?”
“Lucky guess. And it’s my favorite.”
Interesting.“So, did the guy have a lead?”
She put down her spoon. “The man was a predator. Tried to lure me into his car, probably would have succeeded if I hadn’t gotten scared and run.” Her voice stayed steady, but he could see the cost of telling this story in the slight tremor of her hands. “When I told my parents, instead of being proud of my initiative, they were horrified. My father said I could have ended up just like Hannah, that they couldn’t lose me too. My mom had a panic attack and wouldn’t let me out of her sight for months.”
“That’s when you learned that your courage scared people.”
“That’s when I learned that when I try to take action, I make everything worse and hurt the people I love.” She finally looked at him. “And here I am, thirty years old, dragging you into a situation that could get us both killed because I can’t let go of a story.”
“Hey.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “First of all, like I said, I’m a big boy. Nobody dragged me anywhere. I came willingly, remember? Second, you’re not thirteen anymore. You’re a brilliant journalist who’s uncovered a possible bioweapons plot and who could save thousands of lives.”
“I’ve done this before, Skeet. Gotten in over my head and pulled other people down with me. In Syria, I was dating this war correspondent, Marcus Rodriguez. We kept trying to out-scoop each other, taking bigger risks. He got captured becausehe went after a story alone, trying to prove he was as brave as me. He survived, but when he got out, he blamed me. Said I’d made everything a competition, that he’d nearly died trying to keep up with my recklessness.”
“Sounds like Marcus had some issues with his own ego,” Skeet said. “Any guy who feels like he has to compete with his girlfriend instead of supporting her probably isn’t relationship material anyway.”
She blinked at him. “You’re not going to tell me I should have been more careful?”
“Why would I? You were doing your job. If he couldn’t handle dating someone braver than him, that’s his problem, not yours.”
Something shifted in her expression. She didn’t pull her hand away from his.
“Tell me about the other places you’ve covered.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to understand what drives someone to walk into war zones with nothing but a notebook and a camera. And because you light up when you talk about work that matters to you. It’s very attractive.”
She laughed despite herself. “Now, you’re flirting with me while I’m having an existential crisis.”