Cavanaugh Or Death

“You don’t?” he asked her after a beat.

Moira shrugged. “I don’t care one way or the other. Why?”

“I just figured that, as primary, you’d want to be in control.”

His reasoning was just a tad flawed. Odd as it might have seemed, that gave her a little bit of hope again. She wasn’t after perfect when it came to a partner, she was after sharp.

“Driving a car doesn’t make me in control. Staying in control of the situation makes me in control,” she told him matter-of-factly. “That doesn’t include insisting on playing a glorified taxi driver.”

Her response had him regarding her thoughtfully for another long moment before conceding, “Okay, I’ll drive.”

She had a hunch that he preferred it that way. Score, Cavanaugh side.

Contrary to the ending in Casablanca, Moira thought, this did not have the earmarks of the beginning of a long, beautiful friendship.

But she would give it her best shot—at least for now. She was a firm believer in working with the present. That way, if all went well, the future would take care of itself.

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