When I asked you to marry me, you didn’t even have to say yes because we both knew that we’d spend the rest of our lives together.
You know, some day when the Intersect is out of your head and you have the life that you always wanted you’ll forget all about me.
I seriously doubt that.
Sometimes he lies awake in their … his … their bed and remembers their very first date, from another lifetime, it seems; a stunning, enigmatic super spy and a talky computer nerd, chatting away, her smile wide and toothy, those pearly whites brightening up her entire face, her laughter loud and contagious, genuine. He thought it was real and unforced back then when he hardly knew a thing about her. Now, years later, he no longer thinks it was real. He knows it was. She might no longer remember every single detail about their long journey together and she may sometimes still look at him in wonder, as if trying to comprehend how exactly she got there, but the smile is back, or more precisely, it never really disappeared, the smile he is pretty sure she only ever used on him. She still laughs at (almost) all his jokes (even the less successful ones), her lips wide apart, the whiteness of her teeth nearly blinding and he knows she is still there. His Sarah is still there.
It started with a guy who worked at Buy More. And then, one day, an old college friend of his sent him an e-mail that was filled with secrets. And then, the next day, his life really changed when he met a spy named Sarah, and he fell in love.
