Maya's smile turns softer -- more warm, less blinding, and no less pleased (if anything, even more so) -- with the caress, the confirmation, the surprise in his face.

(The flick of her eyes mirrors his, in the instant before his mouth finds hers.)

Using the element of surprise gives the attacker a tactical advantage, she thinks giddily, and Piotr will find himself kissing a smile, its wearer laughing just a little bit, just two breaths, before her fingers curl at the back of his neck and she stops thinking of the officers' handbook and starts thinking of Piotr instead.

Her other hand rests on Piotr's knee. His mouth is soft. The sun is warm on her upturned face. Maya thinks, for the first time in years, I could get used to this.