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He smiles for a living, Sara Ellis once pointed out, disarmingly accurate as always.
She wasn't wrong, he'll be the first to admit. As a boy, he'd smile at Ellen when her face would go inexplicably dark, eager to brighten it again. Growing up, he smiled at boys and girls alike, to get in and out of relationships, mostly unscathed. He did the same with Mozzie, Keller, Vincent, Kate, Alex. And later with Peter, June, Elizabeth, Sara herself. Turns out she wasn't the only one who knew better.
Maya, though. Beautiful, smart, inevitable Maya.
Neal smiles his way into her heart like her token resistance is nothing but a fun challenge, like doing the New York Times crossword in pen or dodging US Marshals. He smiles down at her now in her bed, panting, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, her legs bracketing his bare hips. She leans up on her elbows to kiss that smile, the smile of a man who has nothing to hide, of a man who belongs in sunny Cape Verde, of a man who hadn't had to leave most of his heart stateside.
And she smiles up at him, devastatingly conned. Hook, line, and sinker.