Citrus at Coldwater Park

Mara peeled the orange in the third inning, her thumbnail sinking into the rind, releasing that sharp, bright scent that always made her think of funerals. Beside her, Ethan kept his eyes on the field, but she could feel the weight of his surveillance like a second skin.

He didn't know she'd been a spy once—not the glamorous kind with gadgets and aliases, but the corporate variety who'd infiltrated his company three years ago, stolen their proprietary battery tech, and disappeared. What he didn't know was that she'd stayed. Taken a real job. Made herself into someone who deserved him.

The baseball game had been his idea. Coldwater Park, where they'd first met—she'd been wearing a wire then, pressed into the hollow of her throat, recording his enthusiastic explanation of graphene lattices. She'd fallen for him between innings four and five, somewhere between a hot dog and the realization that his eyes crinkled when he laughed, like he meant it.

"You okay?" Ethan asked, finally looking at her. The crowd roared as someone hit a home run.

Mara handed him a segment of orange. "Just thinking about secrets."

He took it, his fingers brushing hers. "We promised no more of those."

"Yeah." She watched him eat, the juice staining his lower lip. "No more."

Her phone buzzed in her pocket—her old handler, wanting to know if she was in. If she could get back into Ethan's lab now that he'd gotten funding for the new project. The timing was perfect. She was already in his life, in his bed, in his trust.

Mara looked at Ethan, at the way the stadium lights caught the amber in his eyes, at the way he offered her the last orange segment without thinking. A friend wouldn't do what she'd done. A spy would do it again.

The game ended. They stood to leave. Her phone buzzed again.

She dropped it in the trash can on their way out, the device settling among empty peanut shells and discarded programs.

"What was that?" Ethan asked.

"Nothing," she said, and took his hand. "Just clearing out some old garbage."

The orange scent lingered on her fingers as they walked into the night, toward a future that wasn't scripted by anyone but themselves.