He shrugs. “It’s been too long. I need to get back to a routine, and this is what I wanted to do.”
“Where will you teach?”
“I’ll find a studio. It’s easy enough to rent by the hour as and when I need it. Or I can travel to people.”
His hands move with his enthusiasm as he talks. I find myself smiling to myself, just watching him.
“Hey.” I suddenly remember. “This is going to sound weird, but… did you follow me to work this morning?”
Jared turns to me. “What?”
“Well,” I swallow. “You’ve done it before. I just wondered if you saw me out and about.”
Say yes.
Please say yes.
“No.” He frowns at me. “I’d like to think we’ve moved past that stage, Em. Why?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing. I had a weird vibe this morning, that's all. But I’ve been out of sorts all day.”
He starts to look worried. “I can hang around this afternoon. Walk you back.”
“No! Don’t do that.” He holds the door to the florist open – thankfully now unlocked – but he doesn’t look convinced. “Honestly, Jared. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me.”
Or some random person saw me as a possible target. Luckily, I got to Angelo’s without any issues, but it worried me.
I get that prickly feeling again, and turn away from the window. Angelo is leaning over the bouquet that went wrong, examining it. His eyes slide to Jared, then to me.
“One salad bowl,” I announce, holding it up. “With dressing. And a chocolate muffin. Don’t say I never meet you halfway.”
Angelo looks devastated. “No croissants?”
My eyes widen. “They ran out.”
Jared clears his throat, clearly remembering the four trays of steaming fresh ones laid out on the shelves. “Very popular.”
Angelo gives him a suspicious look. “Are you Tuesday or Wednesday? Which day of the week? I lose track of Emmy’s friends.”
Jesus. “Angelo.”
He sniffs. “Where is my green tea?”
“You asked for coffee.”
“Coffee is not healthy.”
“Angelo, you literally asked me for a double shot with cream and cinnamon sprinkles.”
“But you know what I want better than I do.” He takes the cup, his face morose. But it brightens as he examines the salad. “I like this salad. But too much dressing.”
I pray silently for strength.
“Is itreallyhomicide,” I ask Jared sweetly, “if you’re driven to it?”
He very valiantly doesn’t comment. Angelo scans him up and down. “You want a job here?”
“Uh—,”
