She knew what the job entailed, what really happened in the background, because her sister had been one of the people affected. It was how they’d met. She cared too much about him, and as a consequence, this wasn’t going to work. She hadn’t figured it out yet, but she wouldn’t be able to endure another year of being on the sidelines. He had the power to perform better, be careful, use all the tricks he’d learned. He knew who had his back. She had none of that.

He’d seen it happen with a previous partner, though Heather hadn’t felt the impact of powers on her life or the life of anyone close to her. It had taken her longer to figure it out, he’d said too much after a bad day, and he’d seen the exact same pattern play out.

Telling Heather the bad stuff had been his first mistake. Ending it too early had been his other mistake, because it had made him the bad guy, had hurt her too deeply. He’d kept quiet for Merindah, but she knew enough to fill in the blanks, she was older than Heather had been, and she watched him, noticed his emotions, no matter how guarded he was.

He was already saying goodbye to Merindah, in a way. In another way, he clung to her and that caring. The tenderness she showed. He would let her realize it was untenable instead of repeating what had happened with Heather. Maybe it would be a few months, if the situations continued or if he got called out of the city for more emergency mobilizations. Maybe it would be a year.

“Sean?” Merindah asked. She stood on her toes to look over the wall of the kiosk, hand raised, finger pointing.

He was so grateful for the depth of concern she’d showed, the tears she’d shed on seeing him return in one piece. It made his heart swell and hurt at the same time. He resolved to put up with the nonsense about the decorating of the apartment.

He circled the kiosk, and stabbed one image of a boat, painted in oils, golds and greens and blues. “I like that.”

“Name one thing we have in the bedroom that matches that,” Merindah said.

“The quilted bedcover that’s folded over the drying rack, remember? That your sister gave us.”

Merindah raised her eyebrows, giving it serious consideration. “It wouldn’t match the curtains or the rug.”

“Our problem is we got stuff for the bedroom and a big piece of art is the sort of thing you get first and stage the rest of the room around. We could shuffle stuff around.”

“I don’t like boats. Not for a bedroom,” she said.

“What’s wrong with boats?”