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Being a secret agent’s girlfriend isn’t for the faint of heart. It was unfortunately common for Vanderwood to disappear without a word for weeks at a time. By now even absences of two or three months were common.
You had just crossed seven months without any contact from him. He never took this long. Missions would call him to leave, sure, but he always came back. Freshly scarred and exhausted, with honey brown eyes that only softened when they landed on you, but he always, always came back. The whisper turned from a reassurance to a plea for his life. You hated his job but you loved him more, and your heart refused to give him up.
So many times you daydreamed the familiar sounds of the key in the lock and the weight of his heavy boots creaking the floor as he stepped in, unannounced but always invited. This progression of sounds was the second best thing your heart knew. Proceeded only by his murmur in your ear as you squeezed him to death. “Hey babygirl, I missed you.”
One day as you gathered up your blanket to fold it over the back of your lounge chair, the doorbell rang. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual. Your dog pounced up, nails clicking on the floorboards. You knew she would race to the window beside the door, stand on her hind legs at the windowsill so she could peer over and bark at whoever would be waiting at the stoop. You let her go, opting to finish putting the blanket back before answering the door. But after a few of her usual barks, her tone changed: a high pitch yip followed by whines mixed among the barks. Your hands stilled in the fabric of your blanket. That was unusual. Why was she barking like that? More concerning was the fact that you recognized the tone but couldn’t place why.
Discarding your task, you strode quickly to the door, your stomach churning uneasily. Just like he taught you, you looked through the peephole first. Your heart stopped. With a loud gasp you jerked back from the door, your hand clapped over your mouth. Then all at once your heart recovered and was working double time as you ripped the door open and… There he was.
The world stopped spinning while you and Vanderwood just stared at each other. His lips were parted in a small circle, and his eyes wide. For the first time ever he looked uncertain, caught off guard.
The moment broke when your dog zipped through the open doorway to dance happily around his feet.
“Hey—no!” you protested.
“I got her.” With gentle efficiency he scooped up the pup and carried her safely inside.
You closed the door behind you, and you couldn’t stop watching him. He was here. After seven months Vanderwood was here. You could hardly wrap your head around it yet it felt so natural and right.
Vanderwood put the dog down. He stood back up stiffly. “Is it…okay for me to be here?”
You could almost hear the record scratch sound in your head. “What? Vanderwood, why wouldn’t it be okay for you to be here? It’s been so long–”
“Exactly.” He interjected quickly, then paused. “It’s…been too long. I wasn’t sure you’d still want me here. I…wasn’t sure you would wait.”
The words died in your throat altogether. You had never seen him look so unsure of himself. He stared at you as if you were a shape in the clouds that might shift and disappear at any moment. He started to reach out towards your face, but hesitated.
That prompted you into action, grabbing his gloved hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. “Vanderwood, how am I supposed to get this through your thick, stubborn head? Of course I waited. I’ll always wait.”
The battle was evident in his eyes, hope to believe your words and old logic urging him to shove you away under the guise of protection. His chest clenched beneath his tight shirt, and his eyebrows furrowed in a way that was supposed to be dark and angry. He pulled his hand away. “Seven whole months without contact and it never occurred to you to let go of this jacked-up piece of trash and start dating like a normal person? There are so many other guys out there who would be bett–”
“I don’t want other guys, I want you !”
Your dog whined from the rise in your voices. But as quickly as the tension came, it fizzled out again as you looked at each other. Anger was merely a mask for the fear both of your hearts had been through. It had been so long, and now you were finally in front of each other again.
You poked him in the chest and looked him firmly in the eye. “You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”
Like golden stained glass, the expression in his eyes fully cracked. For the briefest of seconds he hesitated, then wrapped you up into his arms, burying his face into the top of your head.
You basked in it: his broad hands clutching you close, the warmth of his chest surrounding your face, the thump of his heart promising another day alive with you.
Vanderwood’s voice was low and raw. “I missed you babygirl. Dang I missed you so much. I can’t believe you’re still here.” Here with me. Here in my arms. I thought I might have lost you.
You pulled back your head to look up at him indignantly. “You can’t believe I’m still here? You’re the one who disappeared on a life or death mission for seven months!” I thought I might have lost you, too.
Vanderwood chuckled, and your heart squeezed at the sound. You knew that chuckle, the one when he felt relieved, safe, when he lowered his guard and let his heart bleed into his actions. After months on the field he was allowing himself to breathe again. He squeezed you just a little tighter and settled his chin on your head. “Can’t get rid of me that easily. Guess you’re stuck with me, too.”