Eve sat in her hotel room and waited. Her heart pulsed away in her chest. She reached into her handbag, lying on the creme sheets, and wrapped her fingers around the grip of her gun. It was cold, hard, focused. The feel of the metal always calmed her: an instinct from years of training. You couldn’t use a weapon angry. You had to be like ice.
She walked over to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Still no sign of him.
Eve tried to ignore all the voices in her head, whispering what could have gone wrong. They were unprofessional. If he didn’t show up, she knew what to do.
Keep to the plan. Stay calm. Stay cold. Think, don’t feel.
There was a knock on her door. Eve sat still for a moment, then slipped her gun into her belt and went to open it.
The hotel door creaked open and he was standing there, holding a bouquet of roses. There were burns on his coat and bruises on his face, but she didn’t mention them.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” Eve put the gun down.
He smiled. “A whole army couldn’t keep me away. Happy birthday.”
Word Count: 199
This is for Sunday Photo Fiction.