SURROGATE : Conception (+18) BOOK 1 (COMPLETE)

| 47 | The Land of Vanishing Lines ||

Liam had been ornery all day.

He glided through the water with practiced skill hoping a swim would help settle him.

He scheduled a car to pick Frida up from the airport the next morning. Truth was he'd been in a piss poor mood since he woke up that morning. He wasn't sure why. He didn't have a good reason either. Penelope was up before him, made coffee, bacon and pancakes which was sitting on the counter for him when he came downstairs after a long shower. True, that made him smile. His belly was full, the promise of dinner was marinating in the refrigerator.

He couldn't, however, shake the anxiety that crept up his spine like that part in a horror film where you know the villain is lurking but are unsure which shadow they will pop out of.

He finished his lap and just lingered there at the edge of the pool with his arms resting on the concrete. He felt like he was on the edge, all day. He stayed at the office longer than he wanted to more so as an excuse to decline Penelope's invitation to watch a movie.

He didn't understand it, because this was their last night together. One would think that he'd be maximizing their time. Truth was, ever since the other night, well he supposed it was technically day. The other day that he wiped tears off her cheeks, that damn day she stole a piece of his soul and refused to give it back, he'd been thrown off course. They'd had sex after that, but he couldn't shake that moment. It was raw, unfiltered. There was nothing outside of the two of them: no time, no mission, no pending end.

Initially he thought he'd done something to hurt her, but after he gained enough awareness, he realized there was something else altogether going on. He could see it in the depth of her eyes, feel it in the way she kissed him, gathered him close.

He pulled himself out the water and steadied shaky legs. How long had he been out there? He shrugged it off and made his way over to the lounge chair where his towel lived. He plopped down and dried off, feeling just as ornery as when he started his swim...

He checked his watch.

...Thirty minutes ago.

He leaned back in the chair and poured himself another glass of Scotch that he brought up from the basement a couple days before. He grabbed the half smoked cigar and lit it.

Sip.

Puff.

Linger.

He looked up to the sky, stars, a clear night actually. It was warm; the weather had definitely turned over the past week.

Summer.

Sip.

Puff.

Linger.

He closed his eyes and just allowed his mind to be there. There, in that moment, there was no anxiety.

He heard the sliding door and Penelope's unstrapped sandals hitting the concrete. He exhaled and for some stupid reason, the corner of his mouth lifted when she stroked her fingers along his shoulders. "I see you found dinner."

He looked over at the empty plate with a satisfied smile. "I did. Thank you." He accepted the kiss she placed on his cheek before he moved to sit up right.

"No, you don't have to." She said finding a seat.

He blew the smoke away from her. "I can put it out if you want to stay for a bit."

"You don't have to. I kind of like the smell actually despite the whole second hand smoke thing. Shhh," she pressed her forefinger to her lips. "Don't tell anyone though." She giggled as she settled in an adjacent chair next to him and silence took the space between them for a moment.