“An hour maybe. I thought I was still dreaming when I opened the fridge and saw the milk. Uh, thanks for that and the food.”

Abandoning my mission for a new shot of espresso, I faced him as he poured himself more cereal. Heavy on the milk, light on the Cheerios. Plenty of both now on the counter.

I did my best to ignore the sight, but my clean-freak nature had the hairs on my arms standing.

“You sleep at all?” he asked, looking up from his bowl.

“A couple hours.”

He nodded, and we stared at one another, unsure how to engage in small talk. I didn’t even know where to begin with him because any question I had served as a reminder he grew up without me.

As we remained locked into some type of staring contest, playing a game of chicken to see who’d break first and speak, I couldn’t help but key in on our similarities.

If I had a photo of myself from my high school days, he’d be shocked to discover it wasn’t actually of him. No wonder I’d been so thrown off when I first saw him in the parking garage. It’d been like looking into a mirror at my sixteen-year-old self.

“What are you thinking?” He broke first, saving me from having to do it.

I folded my arms, feeling the need to guard myself. “Just how much we look alike.”

His eyes tightened on me, cruising slowly down over my body as if sizing me up, deciding if that was an insult or a compliment. “You never answered me about the scars. You have more on your body?”

Like mother, like son. They both seemed to skip straight to the heavy. Why couldn’t he ask my favorite color? Or even my preferred rifle? “There are more, yes. On my back and chest.”

“From?” He returned to eating as if his question hadn’t just mind-fucked me.

“Government work after the Navy.” I gave him too much because he’d demand a follow-up.

“What type of work? Like spy shit?” He lifted his chin, directing it to my scars as if I’d forgotten where they were. “You get taken or something? Tortured?”

I clenched my jaw, doing my best not to slip back into that room where I had been tortured. “Yes,” was all I said, unable to get more out than that. He didn’t need to know the details.

“Huh.” He sat taller, brows drawing together. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t offed.”

Offed? I shook my head in surprise.

“Who saved you? Other spies?”

“I was never a spy, nor will I ever be.” No, he didn’t need the details, but that aspect was something I felt the need to clarify.

“So, my John Wick comment was more accurate?” He set aside his spoon, sloshing more milk onto the counter. “But a government assassin?”