says. “Daphne is…a flower? It’s a pretty word. But are all the people in your family named after plants?”
“No. My oldest brother is August, named after my grandfather, who was born in August. But he goes by his middle name, Griffin. My older sister is May, because she was born in May…”
“So why don’t you have a month for a name?” he asks.
“Well, I’m a twin. And you can’t name two kids July, so…”
“All righty.” He grins. “That’s why you became a flower.”
“A Daphne is a boring little flower, true, but it’s also two other things, so I’m open to interpretation.”
“Do tell. What are the two other things? Wait—isn’t there a Greek myth about Daphne?”
“You are correct—a super depressing myth. Eros shoots Apollo to make him fall for Daphne. But he shoots Daphne with something that means she can’t ever fall for a man.”
“So they’re star-crossed lovers,” he says.
“Oh, it gets worse. He pursues her mercilessly, including disguising himself so he can spy while she bathes in the river. He’s basically going to rape her, so she asks her father—a river god—for help. And he turns her into a laurel tree. Forever.”
“Ouch,” he says. “Okay, what’s the third thing? Because at this point, a boring flower is looking like your better option.”
“It’s a water flea,” she says, trying not to smile.
“Say what?”
“You heard me. Daphnia is a genus of tiny crustaceans. Filter-feeding plankton.”
“Omigod.” He laughs. “And here I thought Richard was a bad draw.”
“Stop.”
“I don’t know if I can look at you now without seeing a water flea. Sorry.”
“Just know that I did some shooting this weekend, too.”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Tactical Services. I grew up on a farm. When it’s time to slaughter a pig, the shot has to be right between the eyes. Otherwise you make the animal suffer.”
“You took out a pig this weekend? All I shot was a paper target. What did you use?”
“A rifle.”
A laugh escapes from his chest. “You are surprisingly sexy, Daphne Shipley.” He gives her another very appreciative glance. “Don’t lose my email address.”
She rolls her eyes, as if he’s teasing her.
He’s not. Daphne is totally his type. She just doesn’t seem to know it. “Do you hunt?”
“I have,” she says. “But that ended when my father died when I was fourteen. I don’t miss it. Hunting is boring. I don’t mind killing an animal for food, but I do mind sitting around all day in the snow waiting for it to wander by. I don’t need to make a sport out of my dinner.”
“But you could argue that venison is more ethical than those pigs you said you raised. Bambi is free and happy in nature until the moment your bullet finds his heart. The pig is enslaved from birth to become your sausage links.”
“I never said my way was more ethical,” she points out. “But we only have organic livestock now. That pig has a lot more space and privacy than I ever had in a house with three older siblings, including a twin brother.”
“That pig never has to ask for the remote control, huh?”
“You’re an only child, right?” She sniffs.
“Maybe. Why?”
“One does not ask for the remote. One fights for it with sweat, blood, and sharp elbows.”
“That sounds like an average night in my barracks. Have you considered a career in the military?”
She smiles and shakes her head.
Rickie makes himself turn his eyes to the road. But he really just wants to look at Daphne. Seeing people is his superpower. And what he sees of Daphne he likes.
She’s a little lost right now, which he recognizes from personal experience. Starting in a new place is hard. As a military brat, he’s done it so many times. This is her first time living away from home, though, so it will take her a little longer to find her stride.
But when she finds it, the rest of the world better watch out. There’s a fierceness to her that can’t be hidden. He’s especially drawn to this.
The drive is long, and they make a lot of small talk. He promises himself that he won’t ask her any personal questions about her weekend. His curiosity about people and their relationships sometimes makes his friends twitchy.
But he loves that shit. That’s why he’s going to become a spy. And when he’s had enough of espionage, he’ll go back to graduate school to become a clinical psychologist. He has it all planned out.
Somewhere in Massachusetts, he can’t stand it anymore. “You haven’t