“Sorry,” she whispered, and I could see the effort it cost her to put a small smile on her face. “So, single bed, huh? That’s going to be cozy. We’ll have to improvise.”

I smiled at her, grateful that she’d play along for a few more hours. It was going to be hard enough to say goodbye.

“I just gotta pack my shit, baby, then we’ll go find somewhere to eat, okay?”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll write up my notes and check my messages.”

I’d gotten rid of most of my things already, in preparation for deployment. Anything I wanted to keep was already on its way to Ches’s garage. I knew Amy gave him hell for storing my stuff, but he didn’t listen to her. A few more things needed to be shipped out—I’d kept my iPod and laptop until now, but the laptop could go. I sent Ches an email that gave him the basics and told him I’d be out of touch for a while. If he had any messages he could send them to Caro.

What was left went into my sea-bag, except my Dress Blues which I shoved into a garment bag for now.

When I’d finished, Caro was still checking her messages. I realized she didn’t have a place to stay for the next few days, unless she went back to the hotel. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable in the apartment, but like she said, she’d been in worse places.

“You can stay here if you like,” I offered. “It’s paid up till the end of the month. The owner is Madame Dubois. Just leave the key with her when you go: she’s cool.”

When Caro looked up, her eyes were distant. “Thank you, I’ll do that,” she said quietly.

We were both trying to hold back the weight of the next 12 hours before it crushed us.

“Any interesting emails?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“All my girlfriends are drooling over your photograph,” she smiled, sounding more like her old self. “They can’t quite believe you’re real. Neither can I sometimes.”

I grinned and pulled her into a hug. “I could prove it to you now if you like.”

She didn’t answer, but ran her hands across the front of my jeans and squeezed, not very gently. My eyebrows shot up, and she laughed.

“Sex instead of food, Caro?”

“Yes,” she agreed, kissing my neck, “I don’t know what’s come over me—you must be a bad influence.”

Then she grabbed a hold of my t-shirt and ripped it over my head. Things were just getting interesting when my damn phone rang: my fuckin’ CO trying to cockblock me again.

Caro raised her hands in defeat, and re-tucked her shirt as I answered.

“Hunter.”

“Back in the land of cuckoo clocks?”

“Yes, sir. Just got back to Geneva.”

“Good. Slight change to your orders: a car will pick you up at oh-five-hundred hours for transfer to Ramstein. Space-A to Kabul, report to Ryan Grant at Camp Eggers. There’s a Press liaison dinner where your presence has been requested—Dress Blues. Now, somehow the ANA has got wind that we’re going after Gal Agha, which is not good news. They want to send ‘tactical support’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. I’m hoping you and Grant’s team will be in Now Zad before they get their shit together. If not, skills and drills and watch your six. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want your first report from Leatherneck. Good night, Hunter.”

Caro was looking at me intently. I think she could see from my face how serious the situation was. I’d be walking into an administrative nightmare between ISAF and the Afghan National Army, intel that was leaking worse than the Titanic, with so-called colleagues I couldn’t trust. Plus I’d be working on a very sensitive mission with a detachment of Marines who didn’t know me. Yeah, nothing to worry about.

“Pick up 05:00,” I said.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me.

We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.

Eventually, I leaned down to kiss her hair.

“Let’s go get some food,” I said quietly.

She nodded without speaking.

We stepped out into the gray evening light, and Caro shivered. It might have been from the cooler mountain air, or because she could sense what was coming. She gripped onto my hand as if she’d never let go. We both knew that she would—and soon.

I took her to a small, family-run bistro that I’d used ever since arriving in Geneva. I didn’t have anything more than a kettle in my room, not that I knew Jack shit about cooking anyway: I could burn some eggs and unwrap a MRE. That was about it.

Caro looked surprised when the owner nodded at me familiarly.

“I come here most days,” I admitted, although I’d never brought anyone with me before.

“Hmm, seems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian,” Caro said with deliberate lightness. “When you come home—to Long Beach—we’ll have to have some fun with food.”

Home. The word pulled at my gut again. But she wanted lightness—I could give her that.

“Yeah, that would be great!” I grinned at her. “Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing—and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”

“Don’t use language like that with me, Sebastian,” she scolded, almost serious. “Chocolate is not something I joke about.”

“Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”

“Crunchy,” I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

She smiled and agreed that crunchy would be good.

Caro ordered a risotto and I ordered the ravioli, but neither of us felt like staying long. We ate without tasting, and then we were out of there. I left a larger than usual tip. I didn’t do goodbyes, so it was my way of saying I wouldn’t be around.

When we got back to the apartment, Caro was shivering.

“Cold, baby?”

“A little. Can we turn the heat on?”

I smiled at her. “No heating.”

She stared at me in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”

I shook my head, amused. “Don’t worry, Caro—I’ll warm you up.”

I’d chosen the room for the view and because it was in a part of town that was away from other Americans stationed here. Nothing against them, but I preferred to be by myself.

Caro disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared dressed in one of my old khaki workout shirts. She threw herself into the bed, shivering under the covers. Jeez, it wasn’t that cold.

To make my point, I wandered around naked, although I usually wore green skivvies in case Madame Dubois walked in, which she had, soon after I moved here. I thought she’d made a mistake, but when it happened a second and then a third time, I decided the old lady had her eyeballs on my junk too often. But for Caro, I’d make an exception, although I kept the tighty whiteys for under Deltas—the khaki slacks. Man, I hated those.

I washed up and finished brushing my teeth, before I slid into the narrow bed next to Caro.

“You know, Sebastian,” she said, “while I really enjoyed the floor show, you’ll have to wear more clothes at home.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said, as if talking to a five-year-old, “I live in a bungalow—and I have elderly neighbors. We have elderly neighbors, and I don’t want you giving them a heart attack.”

“Okay, boss,” I smirked.

I pulled her against my body and kissed her slowly and deeply, trying to show her without words how much she meant to me, how much she’d always meant to me.

My body reacted to her instantly, but I took my time, pushing away the night, pushing away the moment when we’d be apart again, touching, always touching, tasting and feeling. Her hands traced the muscles of my back, and her tongue tracked across of every ridge of my chest and stomach, dipping down to take me in her mouth, until I had to beg her to stop. Then I made sure I took to her the edge and back before she exploded against my mouth, her breath harsh in her throat. And only then I allowed myself to slide inside her, filling her inch by inch, circling my hips, so I could feel her tightening around me. I rolled onto my back, pulling her with me, and I laid my hands across her flat stomach as she arched up over me.