I was at the central warehouse the next morning with a plastered nose.
The first thing Tomas said when he walked in was, "What happened to your nose?"
"Mira punched me." I answered gruffly.
Tomas laughed. A full, unrestrained laugh that echoed off the office walls. I shot him an intense glare, but that only seemed to encourage him.
"Jesus, Boss," he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "Two years away and the first thing your wife does is rearrange your face. Can't say you didn't deserve it."
I pinched the bridge of my nose carefully. It still throbbed, and the faint sting reminded me of the fury in Mira's eyes when her fist connected with it. She hadn't hesitated, not for a second. My Mira. Still fire, still unpredictable. But I did not see that coming.
"You done?" I asked dryly.
"Not even close," Tomas grinned, leaning back in the chair opposite my desk. "You're lucky she didn't break it. She's got good aim."
