This is another short mind-clearing story I wrote while trying to work on something else. Ranger and Steph, and the Rangeguys mentioned, still belong to Janet. The mistakes are mine alone.
"Jeg savnede dig," the man near us whispered to the woman now in his arms.
"What did he tell her?" Steph whisper-asked me, confident that I'll know.
Fortunately for my beautiful eavesdropper, I do. Employing men from all over the globe has given me a unique opportunity to learn languages that weren't a requirement for me to know. Hiring Mads for Boston's branch of Rangeman led to me adding Danish to the ever-growing list.
When the reunited couple walked away with their luggage, I answered Stephanie. "He said 'I missed you' to whoever met his plane."
She smiled. "That's sweet. Hopefully it was said to his wife or girlfriend and not someone else's."
"Way to kill a romantic moment with reality-based cynicism, Babe."
"Sorry. Let me bring the romance back," she said, sliding her arms around my waist. "I missed you."
I lowered my head and kissed her, trying to keep it a brief one so I wouldn't lose sight of the fact that we're currently in a busy airport.
"I've only been gone for three hours," I reminded her when I lifted my head.
She grabbed my neck with both hands and brought my head down for another, slightly longer lip-press.
"Three hours is a looooong time without you nearby to annoy or to kiss," I was told, as she let me go only to circle an arm around me as we headed out of the terminal. "I am glad that you want to personally go down to pick Julie up and then take her back to Miami yourself, though. You're a really good guy and a great dad."
"I'm trying to be."
"Well, you're succeeding ... unless I heard wrong and Julie didn't ask if she could stay another week with you next month."
"You heard that conversation correctly," I said, reliving that moment of finally feeling like I've been accepted as her father. To get Steph off the scent of some untapped emotion, I deftly changed the subject. "What made the hours I was away so long? No one called me saying there was a problem. There will be a big one if I wasn't notified that something had happened."
I got the Cayenne door for her, and after I was in the driver's seat she put me at ease. I'm sure the reasons are different, but I understand what she means by the two of us being apart can make a minute feel much longer than sixty-seconds. On the opposite end of the time-spectrum, having her pick me up at the airport now instead of Tank really does make time pass too quickly.
"There weren't any serious problems," Steph assured me. "But apparently when the Boss is away, the Rangeguys want to play a little. Lester broke into my desk drawer, stole my box of Tastykakes, and told me I'd get them back only if I could manage to get the lock on Vince's locker open all by myself."
"Would you like me to kick his ass for you?" I offered.
"I appreciate the offer, not having anyone really come to my defense before you, but there's no need to involve your knuckles. Vince was scared he'd be called an accomplice because his locker was the one chosen, and he'd then get a similar ass-kicking as Lester was guaranteed, so he quickly retrieved my contra-cakes as soon as Woody told him where Mr. Shit-Stealing Santos stashed them. It's the strangest coincidence ... a half hour later, the file Tank was waiting for Lester to get him seemed to have mysteriously disappeared."
"Is there anything left of Santos?" I asked.
"Of course. Butterscotch Krimpets are good and all, but I wouldn't really let Lester get his organs squashed by our Tank over just one box of them. When that 'you'd better start running' furrow creased Tank's forehead, I confessed what I'd done and quickly handed Boss#2 the file. Your second-in-command went from homicidal to amused in the blink of my eyes. I guess I passed the Rangeguy/Ranger's my friend so tread carefully test."
"You passed that test a long time ago or the men wouldn't feel comfortable engaging you in a little stress-relieving play. Speaking of playing ... you up for playing hooky?"
"You mean hang out with you for the rest of the day without there being a desk or a control room between us?"
"Yes. We could take the ferry and have dinner over in Manhattan. Tank tried to breakout his funny bone and said it was a bad idea for you to pick me up at an airport because I could decide to kidnap you and take off. I decided it sounded like a plan I need to test out."
"You're serious?" She asked, as if I haven't rearranged my day for her many times in the past and literally up to the present day.
"Yes again."
Her arm crossed the Porsche's console and her hand landed on my leg. That had my hopes for the remainder of the day staying up. When she squeezed the inside of my knee with the tips of her fingers, more than my thoughts rose to the occasion. She is one-hundred-percent correct, three hours is much too long of a time for us to be apart. Next time, she's flying to Miami and back right along with Julie and I.
"I missed you," she repeated.
"I'm glad to hear it, because it means I wasn't alone in not liking any separation between us, even a temporary one."
"Keep saying things like that," she teased, "and not only will there be no desk between us this afternoon, I'll make sure there's a bed under the two of us tonight ... with us keeping each other company pretty early under the covers of it."
We've shared a bed almost every night since the one when we returned to seven after a particularly nasty apprehensive. The FTA chose to pull a gun on us and I had to pull the trigger on him. After the police were satisfied with my retelling of the events leading up to the kill and we'd been allowed to leave the scene, I had convinced Steph that she needed to stay with me for both our sakes.
But she and I being together in every way every day since … doesn't mean we can't break-in a completely new bed that will likely be positioned in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that will provide us with a sunset and then a sunrise view of Central Park. Even better, is there will be no one interrupting our evening, plus room service for whenever Steph requires a snack. We can get back to business - and retaliatory beatings - as usual tomorrow.