Characters: Angie, Bond, Peggy
Warnings/Triggers: wounds, suturing, infections, some innuendo
Spoilers: A few general ones for Agent Carter Season One
Word Count 5,587
Summary: Angie has a third encounter with a certain British spy, this time injured, not wearing pants, and in her apartment.
Author's notes: Follows Ships in the Night, and The Second Threat. Last part of this 'Triple Threat' trilogy, and I think I've gotten everyone to where I wanted them to be. I may write more, but this leaves it off nicely if I don't, I think.
Angie came home with her feet aching like the devil. All day at work and then another hour tapping her heart out made her legs feel like they were either going to give out or maybe just explode. She took off her shoes as soon as she was in the door and padded off down the hallway slowly, intending to get to the bath tub as soon as possible.
She didn't get there. Once she'd passed the kitchen, she heard movement behind her, and she whirled around to find James Bond staring at her with a gun in his hand. Not pointing at her, just hanging at his side, but still very much there with a gun.
“Gesummaria!” she exclaimed, jumping back and brandishing one of her shoes as a weapon.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I live here, Mister! What are you doing here?” Angie said. She kept her shoe up and tried to catch her breath. Living with a spy was hard enough on her nerves; she didn't need other spies coming in to scare her all the time. She got a better look at him as he moved out of the shadows. “And why aren't you wearing pants?!”
He looked down and then back up. “It's a bit of a long story."
She could see a bandage around his thigh. “You're hurt. What's wrong? What's going on?” She hurried toward him and he took a step back.
“Nothing, I'm fine,” he said.
“So, you just dropped in to take off your pants for awhile?” Angie said.
“Something like that,” James said. “I didn't think you'd be home on a Friday night.”
“My social life isn't that exciting,” Angie said. “Let me look at you. Sit down. And put that gun away, Sugar. Gentlemen don't go showing their guns to nice girls in their own homes.”
James opened his jacket and stuck the gun into a holster there. “Sorry,” he said. “You took your shoes off. I couldn't be sure you weren't someone sneaking in.”
He limped as she moved him, and in the light of the kitchen, she could see he was pale and sweaty. She tried to get him to sit down, but he was also kind of restless and moved away from her.
“Sugar, sit,” she said, gently. “Let me look. You came here 'cause you were hurt, right? Let me help you.”
He sat down, though his non-injured leg bounced where he sat. Angie knelt down in front of him and undid the bandage, which was wet with pink fluid. There was a big, gaping wound underneath it. It wasn't bleeding, but it was oozing a little and puffy at the edges. It was starting to get infected. She touched the skin around it and it was red hot. She guessed it was a knife wound.
“This needs to be cleaned out,” she said. “And stitched up. How long were you walking around on this? What happened? Does Peggy know you're here?”
“No, she doesn't know,” James said. “I'm here on business that doesn't concern her. I couldn't stop for medical attention until now. I'm fine.”
Angie smacked his knee. “You ain't fine. I'll clean you up. Stay put.” She straightened and pointed a finger at him. “I mean it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said, cheekily.
She got the First Aid kit that Peggy kept, which was stocked to the hilt to handle any sort of injury. Angie was pretty sure she could do surgery on someone with it if she had to. She took out the iodine and the sewing kit and some bandages and scissors, putting it on the kitchen table for easy access. She sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him.
“Someday, you should really call before you show up somewhere,” she told him, as she got the iodine ready. “A girl likes a bit of notice.”
“Now, where's the fun in that?” James said, with a smirk.
The smirk left his face as Angie poured the iodine in the wound, but he didn't moan or make any noise. One of his eyes twitched slightly closed and that was his only reaction to what had to be a lot of pain.
“Sorry,” Angie said. She blew gently on the wound to take the sting out, making his eyebrows shoot up. She supposed she was a bit close to the private area. “Do not say a word, Mr. Bond. I am a lady.”
“Of course,” James said. “I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise.”
Angie reached up to the table and got the needle and thread out. “You're lucky I used to be a girl scout. I have a First Aid badge and everything.”
“I'd love to see your uniform,” James said.
“It don't fit anymore,” Angie said.
“You haven't changed my mind."
Angie glared up at him and he smiled to show all his teeth. She liked that smile.
“This probably isn't going to be fun,” she warned him.
“I'll be fine,” he said.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Angie said. “And swear all you want.”
“You're a lady, Angie, I wouldn't want to shock you with my language. I was in the navy.”
“I'm Italian. I bet I got you licked.”
James chuckled. She pinched at the wound and forced the needle through the skin. She could feel him tense up, but he didn't move and he didn't swear. He just stared straight ahead.
“Maybe I should sing you a song,” Angie said. “My ma always sang to me when she had to do something painful like this.”
“You do owe me that third threat,” James agreed, through gritted teeth.
Angie didn't think she did her best singing, but considering she was also sewing a wound back together at the time, she thought it wasn't bad.
“I know what I like, and I like what I saw, and I said to myself...that's for me.”
That was the song they'd danced to at the party. She thought it was a good choice for the moment. Which was not your ordinary sort of moment. It was the sort of moment she thought she might reflect on later as a strange interlude in her life. Something to tell her kids one day. 'Did I ever tell you about the time a British man broke into my apartment and I sang him torch songs while I sewed up his leg?'
“Oh, my darling...that's for you!” Angie concluded.
“I'd clap, but I don't want your needle to miss,” James said. “It's in a very sensitive area.”
“I got good aim,” Angie assured him.
“And a good voice,” James said. “Music isn't my area of expertise, but I'd certainly buy a ticket.”
“You'd be the only one there,” Angie said, glummer than she'd like to have sounded about it. She was aiming for witty. “Except maybe my mother.”
“Mothers aren't my area of expertise either,” James said. “Ouch!”
“Sorry!” Angie pulled the needle back. She figured she must really have hurt him to make him say that. She winced as pus oozed out of where the needle had started to go through. “It's probably good to get that out of you, though. Let's put more iodine on there.”
“Oh, yes, let's."
Angie gave him an apologetic smile as she put more of the iodine on. She blew on the wound again.
“You're going to have to stop doing that,” James said, in a tight voice. He squirmed uncomfortably. “You're making it very hard for me to remain a gentleman.”
Angie felt her cheeks get hot. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I was just trying to make it feel better.”
“You're doing a very good job,” James said. “And that's why I need you to stop.”
She let the sting wear off without her help and made sure all the pus had drained out and been cleaned away. She didn't know she could do this sort of thing so calmly. She'd been part of the Red Cross during the war and learned all sorts of stuff for if America was ever attacked, but sewing up a real leg was different than sewing up a chicken breast. What she'd really wanted to do was be a USO girl. She'd have loved to perform with Captain America. Her mother wouldn't let her, though. She'd said Angie would get 'corrupted'. Angie wondered what she'd make of her sitting between the legs of a half-naked man in her kitchen on a Friday night.
“There we go,” she said, a few minutes later. She snipped the thread with the scissors and grabbed the bandages. “Not bad for my first attempt, I think.”
“And you made it seem like you knew what you were doing,” James said.
“I'm an actress,” Angie reminded him.
“Your acting is better than your sewing,” he replied, as he bent over to look. “But I can't complain about the bedside manner.”
Angie wrapped the bandage around his thigh and tied it up. He offered a hand to help her to her feet. Which were still smarting from what she'd put them through that day so far. She wiggled her toes and stretched them out.
“Now, I'll be on my way,” James said. He rose and reached for his pants on the floor. “Once again, the service has been remarkable.”
Angie grabbed them first. “Uh-uh-uh. You ain't going nowhere.”
“I'm sorry?” James said.
“You heard me,” Angie said. “You're not going until you're in shape to do it, and you ain't there yet.”
“Angie. Give me my trousers.”
“Nope. Listen, Mister, you'll burst all those open again and I worked hard on it. Plus, you look like something the cat dragged in. You need to sleep and eat and stay put. I know what you spies are like--I live with one. If you look this bad, you must feel worse.”
“I'm fine,” James said, in a low, dangerous voice.
Angie had to admit, it was a little hard to stand firm in the face of it. She reached out and put a hand to his forehead, which was sweaty and warm. She brushed it down his cheek, which had gone from white to spotted with red. That was warm too.
“You've got a fever,” she said. “So, here's what's going to happen. You're gonna take some Aspirin, and I'm gonna wash your pants because they're gross. When the dryer is done, and when you don't feel like a July afternoon, you can leave. Stay a couple of hours, at least.”
James glared at her. He looked down at his pants and then back up to her. For a moment, she thought he might make some sort of move for them. She hid them behind her back.
“Fine,” he said. His lips quirked. “But if I have to walk around without my trousers, shouldn't you be missing a skirt? It's only fair.”
Angie's mouth dropped open, even as she laughed. “You still owe me dinner."
“I'm not hungry,” he said, regretfully.
“Well, guess we'll have to wait then,” Angie said.
“Waiting is not my area of expertise,” he said.
Angie patted his cheek. “This seems like a good time to practice, Sugar.”
Angie got James some Aspirin and tossed his pants in the washing machine and made him go out to the living room and sit down. She put a drink in his hand, since he seemed like he might need a drink, and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Do you want me to put some music on?” she asked.
“Why, are we going to dance?” James said.
“Not tonight,” Angie said. “My dogs are barking.” She wiggled her toes again.
James swallowed the sip of drink he'd taken and put the glass aside. He patted his lap and held out a hand to her. It took her a moment to figure out what he wanted, and then she put one of her feet in his hand. He settled it on his knee and started massaging her arch, and Gesummaria, it felt good. Angie had to bite her lip hard from making some unladylike moaning noises as he worked up into her very sore calf muscles.
“This would be easier with your stockings off,” he said. “I could get a better grip.”
“Your grip is plenty good,” Angie assured him. She felt like removing her stockings might be the start of a slippery slope.
He worked with great dedication, rubbing and massaging up and then back down again, looking at her leg like it was a wonder or he was trying to memorize it. Then he did the other leg. He finished that off with a gentle kiss to her shin that made her hair tingle.
“Better?” he asked.
Angie tested her legs out. They felt great. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I always like to return a favor,” he said.
“If that's how you're going to return it, I'll do more for you,” Angie said.
“Oh, I have other methods of repayment,” he said. “But I need more quid for my pro quo.”
Angie wasn't entirely sure what that meant but was pretty sure she should be scandalized and not charmed. But she was charmed. And once he finally got her that dinner, she was going to have a lot of fun with his favors, she thought. But she wanted dinner first. On principle.
He went back to his drink, and she folded her legs up beneath her just in case he got ideas about doing more to them because she wanted him to and that was dangerous. He had sweat on his brow and he wiped it away with his arm.
“Do you want a cloth for your head?” she asked.
“I'm fine,” he said.
“Do they teach you to say that in spy school?” Angie wondered. “Peggy always says that, too, even when she's not fine at all.”
“I seem to recall a lesson similar to that, yes,” James said. “But I am fine.”
He wasn't fine. He got a lot worse before he got better and Angie was glad she'd made him stay. He got the chills and she had to wrap him up in a blanket, but she had to basically cuddle with him to get him to keep it on, huddling up to him and trying to chafe his shoulders and back. He was solid as a rock from how hard he was trying not to shiver.
“You're not fine! Shut your pretty mouth!”
James chuckled through his chattering teeth. “At least you-you've noticed my good looks, at l-last."
“I wouldn't say you were good-looking,” Angie teased. “You've just got an interesting face. And the accent does a lot.”
“I should have l-left it alone,” James muttered. “Ouch.”
Angie nudged him. “You got nice eyes. Who gave you those?”
“According to one p-person, Satan,” James said. “At least, I assume that's what they meant by 'the d-devil's blue eyes'.”
Angie took a look at them and nodded. “I can see it."
“Thank you,” James said, with a smirk.
He started to settle down with the chills, but Angie was tired, and she was actually pretty comfy snuggled up to him. She decided not to move away. She just let the blanket fall down so it wasn't making him too hot and put her head back where it was. He didn't seem to know what to do for a minute, like maybe cuddling wasn't his area of expertise either, but he found a place for his hands that were decent--almost--and Angie tried to prevent herself from nodding off in his arms. The fact that he was so warm was actually very soothing, like a hot water bottle.
“I'm keeping you up,” he said, in her ear. “Go to sleep.”
“You'll sneak out,” Angie mumbled.
“Not if you're sitting on me,” he said.
“And I gotta put your pants in the dryer,” Angie added.
“I'll wake you when it's time,” James said.
“And it's not lady-like,” Angie said.
“I'll be a perfect gentleman,” James said.
And that was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.
When she woke up, it was because James was rooting around in his jacket and bumping her in the back with his hand. She opened her eyes and discovered Peggy and James pointing their guns at each other.
“Eeek!” she said and ducked her head. “Hey, don't shoot!”
Peggy turned another lamp on in the living room, keeping her gun still pointing at them. “Criminy! What is going on?” she said. “The kitchen looks like a field hospital. I thought the worst and--what are you doing here?”
“Bit of a holiday?” James replied, with a straight face.
Angie got out of his lap by rolling down to her knees on the floor, still not sure they weren't going to shoot each other and not wanting to be in the way of it. “Geez, you two are jumpy,” she said. “Can we put the guns away? I don't like guns.”
James slid his back into his holster and Peggy lowered hers down. She squinted at James and Angie got the scene from her perspective, which was that Angie and James had been snuggling on the couch while he had no pants on.
“James got hurt,” Angie explained, tentatively raising herself from the floor. “And he stopped in for some help. I fixed him up and I'm washing his pants because they're bloody. Shoot, what time is it? You were supposed to wake me to dry them, Mister.”
“I tried,” James said. “You smacked me twice and told me to shove off. I decided to let you wake naturally.”
Angie could have protested that she'd never do that, but she knew she probably had. She'd once given her brother a black eye when he tried to get her up for school.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It's fine,” James said. “I'll live.”
“Mr. Bond is used to being smacked by young women,” Peggy added.
“True,” James agreed. “How are you, Agent Carter?”
“Just ducky, 007,” Peggy said. “I'm so delighted to have you here. I thought I might go a full three-month without seeing you and it was breaking my heart.”
“I just can't stay away,” James said. “You're always so warm and welcoming to me, Carter.”
Angie really admired the way British people could insult each other by being polite. It was a gift. Maybe it was something in the tea. Angie crawled free of the line of fire and got to her feet.
“I'll just go take care of your pants!” she said and hurried into the utility room where it was safe.
The washing machine was done now. James' pants were still in one piece, except for the hole where the knife had gone through, but the blood hadn't come out so well. There was still a big brown patch on them. But they were brown, so maybe it wouldn't look too bad once they were dry. Angie tossed them into the dryer.
“I'm very sorry, Angie,” Peggy said as she stormed into the room a minute later. “You shouldn't have to deal with him.”
“I don't mind,” Angie assured her.
“You shouldn't have let him in,” Peggy carried on. “He has no business showing up unannounced.”
“He was kind of here when I got in, Peggy. I didn't have a lot of choice,” Angie said.
Peggy's face darkened. “He broke into our flat?!”
She turned to storm out again but Angie caught her by the arm and pulled her back.
“Hey, hey,” Angie said. “Don't go picking fights, English. He was hurt bad. You didn't see him before. He came because he needed somewhere safe. He didn't think I'd be here. He was trying not to be in the way.”
“That's what he says,” Peggy said. “He's not that considerate, Angie.”
“Well, I don't mind,” Angie said. “Because if I had a choice of him breaking in here and me taking care of him, or him bleeding to death on the street or getting some awful infection, I'd rather he be here. It's what a decent person would want. Are you a decent person Peggy Carter?”
Peggy sighed. “I'd like to think so."
“Then, leave him be,” Angie said, wagging her finger. “He's had a rough night. You're just grumpy from work. You go to bed and I'll take care of him.”
Peggy leaned against the washing machine and set her with a hard look. “I just don't want to see you disappointed or hurt,” she said. “He can be very charming.”
“I ain't planning our wedding!” Angie said, throwing her hands up in the air. “I've only met him three times. I'm not dumb. I haven't even done anything yet, and if I do, it'll be because I want to and not because he's charming. “
Peggy ducked her head and sighed. “Yes, you're right,” she said. “I'm sorry. You're a grown woman. And a smart one. I shouldn't assume things. I am grumpy.”
“Maybe you should have some cake,” Angie suggested.
“If James Bond continues to flit in and out of here, there won't be enough cake in the world.”
“I do hope I haven't caused a rift,” James said when Angie came back out to the living room.
“Don't worry, you're not nearly important enough for that,” Angie told him, truthfully. It would take a helluva lot more than a guy--even a cute British one--to put Angie and Peggy at odds with each other. No guy was worth that.
“I don't know why I come here. It's terrible for my ego,” James said, putting a hand on his heart like she'd shot him there.
“You don't seem like you need much help with that,” Angie pointed out.
James cocked his head back and forth. “I do have quite a solid one,” he admitted and flashed her a smile. His smile grew wider as Peggy came into the room, but it wasn't flirty, just happy to be annoying her. “Am I getting the bum's rush, or can I stop girding my loins?”
“I would suggest to never stop doing that for your own safety,” Peggy said. “But Angie seems convinced that sending you out in the middle of the night isn't sporting, so please stay until you at least have your trousers on again.”
“Thank you,” James said, with a bow of his head that was kind of sincere. Probably really sincere, Angie thought, for him. “If I can return the favor, I will.”
Peggy nodded. “I know,” she said, and that was sincere, too.
And then everyone stopped being grumpy and Angie wasn't afraid of them shooting each other. Which was good, because it was 1AM and she'd had a long day.
“I'm going to retire,” Peggy said. “Goodnight, Mr. Bond.”
“Sleep well,” James said.
Peggy stopped to give Angie a half-hug and squeeze. “If you need back-up, shout."
“I can handle him,” Angie promised. “Don't let the bed bugs bite, sweetie.”
“They wouldn't dare,” Peggy replied.
“You can go to bed too if you want,” Angie said to James. “You know where the guest room is. It'll be a bit for your pants, still. You could have a nap.”
“I don't know, will I still have my blanket in there?” James said.
“Nope,” Angie said.
“Pity, it was very comfortable,” James said.
Angie gave a shrug and he grinned.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asked. “I think I'm going to make something for myself.”
“Well, if you're going to do it anyway,” he said.
They went back into the kitchen and Angie realized she had left it in kind of a mess. She could see why Peggy had been nervous about it. Angie cleaned up, then she went to work being impressive in the kitchen, which was no easy task because she wasn't Sheila Hibben, and neither was Peggy, and they mostly cooked whatever was easiest. Angie trolled through the cupboards and the icebox to see what they had and laid it all out. She had some cheese, deviled ham, and bread.
“That's quite the feast,” James said.
“Sorry, I wish I had more,” Angie said.
“I wasn't being sarcastic,” James said. “We're still rationing in England. Bread and cheese is quite the commodity. Cheese especially.”
“Well, geez,” Angie said. “I won't worry about making it fancy, then. Come give me a hand.”
She had to direct him, but he sliced and grated what she told him to, and they chatted as they worked. Well, she thought they were chatting, but after a while, she realized that she was chatting and he was making noises and sounds that kept her chatting without actually saying anything himself. She didn't think she was boring him, she just thought he was very good at not participating in a conversation while making it seem like he was. She tried to see if she could turn the tables on him.
“Where in England are you from?” she asked.
“There's really only two places in England,” he said. “London and not-London. I'm from not-London.”
Well, he'd danced out of that. “Peggy's from London,” Angie said.
“Yes, I know,” James said. “Why do you think we don't get on?”
Angie giggled as she put a tray of toast into the oven to make the cheese melt. “How come you keep ending up in New York?”
“It's a vicious cycle. I come, and the more I come, the better I know the area, so the more they send me, and the more they send me, the better I know the area. I've become something of an expert.”
“Well, I don't mind seeing you,” Angie said.
He flicked his eyebrows up. “Ah, a compliment at last."
“But the next time you come, you should take me out proper,” Angie said. “And stop showing up without telling me.”
“Next time, dinner,” James said. “I promise.”
James ate his food like it was the best meal he'd had in years, and Angie didn't feel so bad about not being a great chef. He helped her with the dishes afterward. He'd been hopeless last time, but this time he was only mostly hopeless, and he'd figured out the drying rack.
James started clicking as he finished off the last plates. He reached into a pocket in his jacket and pulled out a little doo-dad, which was making very rapid tick-tick noises.
“What's that?” Angie asked.
“Portable telegraph,” James said. “I'm getting a message from home.”
“You in trouble?” Angie said.
James put a finger to his lips and cocked his head to listen. He took a pen and notebook out and scribbled, and once the clicking stopped, his brow furrowed like he was calculating something, and then he wrote some more and read off it to tap back. He repeated this a few times and then he tore the pages out of the book, put them into a pot on the stove, and dropped a match in to burn them.
“That's dramatic,” Angie said.
“That's the only way we do things,” James said. “And the answer to your previous question is yes, I am in trouble. They'd like me home as soon as possible.”
“I'll see about your pants,” Angie said.
They were still kind of damp and the stain wasn't quite gone yet, but they were wearable and you'd have to squint to see. Angie thought she'd done her best for him and wouldn't feel worried if he went now. She'd fixed him up, fed him, and done his laundry. He'd leave better than he arrived. That was being a good citizen of the world.
“Thank you,” he said when she brought the pants to him. He pulled them on. “For everything.”
“No problem,” Angie said, giving him a salute. “How's your fever?” She felt his forehead. Nice and cool. “I'm pretty good at this. If the acting thing don't work out, I'll open a nice hostel for spies.”
“I'd be very insulted to think I wasn't your only spy,” James said. “I'm keeping you for myself.”
“Who says I'm open for taking?” Angie said. “Don't presume nothing, Mister.”
He gave one of those laughs she liked, the one that seemed sweet in some way. “Can I at least put in a reservation for future visits?”
“Sure,” Angie said. “But call first.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said.
She walked him to the door and he bent down to kiss her cheek. Without thinking about it, she moved her head so he caught her lips instead. She did not feel sorry about it at all. He had nice lips. She liked the look of surprise on his face when he pulled back, too.
“That's not fair. I can do much better than that,” he said, sounding annoyed.
He could, as it turned out. Much better. Angie wasn't sure where her knees were when he was done, but they weren't on her legs, and she was sort of glad he had her against the doorjamb because it was helping her stay up.
“Next time, dinner,” he said, in a low growl that was not helping anything.
“Next time,” Angie said, a bit breathless. “Dinner.”
“I got it!” Angie yelled as the phones rang all over the apartment.
She hurried over to the nearest one, sliding to a stop on the shiny floor and having to go back a couple of steps once she'd grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hello, Sugar,” James' voice purred at her.
Angie grinned at the wall. “Hey, Mister. You figured out how phones work, huh?”
“I've sorted out the basics, yes,” James said.
Peggy came into the room and raised her eyebrows at her. Angie cradled the phone on her shoulder and mouthed 'James', making a gun gesture to clarify which one she meant. Peggy threw her hands up to the heavens and left the room again, muttering.
“What's cooking?” Angie asked.
“I'm in New York,” James said.
“They really like sending you here, huh?” Angie said.
“They do,” James said. “In fact, they've made my position here more permanent. My employers have decided it might be prudent to have a liaison with the SSR. I'll be here for a lengthier visit.”
Angie was glad they were on the phone because it let her do an excited little dance without him knowing. “Does Peggy know?” she asked.
“What sort of mood is she in?” James said.
“She's okay,” Angie said.
“Then, no, I don't imagine she knows,” James said, and she could hear the smirk on his face. “I hope I get the chance to tell her in person. In the meantime, however, I was wondering if we might get that dinner I owe you?”
“I could maybe fit you in,” Angie said. “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking El Morocco,” James said.
Geez. Nothing halfway with him.
“I think you need reservations for there,” Angie said.
“I have them,” James said.
Angie put her hand on her hip, even though he couldn't see her. “That's very presumptuous, English,” she said. “I might have said no.”
“Reservations can be canceled,” James said. “I presumed nothing. Are we on?”
“When?” Angie asked.
“Friday,” James said.
Angie would have to skip tap class. She could skip tap class. Tap class was not as fun as a date at El Morocco with a British spy.
“We're on,” Angie said.
“Excellent,” James said, and she thought he sounded relieved, a little. “I'll pick you up at seven.”
“You got it,” Angie said.
She said goodbye, and hung up, and did a few shuffle ball changes in celebration.
“Good conversation?” Peggy asked.
Angie did a timestep and a ta-da. “I have a date,” she said.
“With Bond?” Peggy asked.
“Yep!” Angie said.
Peggy smiled. “Congratulations,” she said. “I think.” She looked back toward the kitchen. “Should I stock up on cake do you think?”
Angie considered what James said about sticking around for a while. “I think, Sweetie, you might want to invest in a bakery.”