Thorn smiled. “I’m sure I can convince them I can take care of you.”
“Perhaps. But I’m not sure they’d approve of a ne’er-do-well who can’t hold a job, even a rich ne’er-do- well.”
“I expect I’ll stay where I am for a while,” he said. “So far, the military hasn’t stuck its nose too far into my business. They’re happy with the job we did on their problem. With luck they won’t get too hands-on.”
“Good. Maybe we can go down to Georgia on a long weekend soon, see my grandparents.”
“That’d be fine. I’ll brush up on my Shakespeare and squirrel-skinning.”
“My grandfather’s favorite play is
“Duly noted. Any hints on squirrel stew?”
“Only one — first, catch a squirrel.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’ll do fine. My mother is so desperate for grandchildren, as long as you have a pulse you’ll be acceptable. My father trusts my judgment, though I have given him occasion to wonder. My grandma and grandpa will see the real you through whatever facade you hold up, and that’ll be good enough for them.”
“You think?”
“It’s good enough for me. That’s all that really matters.” Thorn grinned. Earlier, he had thought that life couldn’t get any better. He’d been wrong.
He squeezed Marissa’s hand. Life was getting better all the time.
