Just then the diner’s front-door bell jingles, and in Josie steps, all buttoned up in a heavy coat and boots, shaking off the cold. My body locks up. It’s as if I’ve conjured her from the ether.
Strike doesn’t say a word, but his eyes follow mine.
When Josie sees us, she comes right over.
“Of all the all-night greasy spoons in this town—oh, wait, there’s only one,” she says. “So maybe it’s not such a coincidence.”
“What are you doing up this early?” I ask. “Or is itout this late?”
I doubt it’s the latter—I saw her get into an Uber last night. Though she could have ended up at Bryan’s. The thought makes my stomach curdle.
I glance at her ring finger. Still bare.
“Couldn’t sleep.” She says this cheerfully, sunshine in a cup, but she also looks tired. “Everyone knows this is the best coffee in Shelton—thanks, Jill.” She smiles as the waitress glides past and hands Josie a to-go cup from her tray. Like they’re old friends. I’ve been here at least a hundred times and never once thought to ask the waitress’s name.
“Dark roast with milk and honey, just how you like it,” she tells Josie, and she then sets down our breakfast specials.
“And bybest, I meanmost caffeinated. I have no idea what they put in here, but it should be illegal,” Josie says once the waitressis gone. “Anyway. What’s your excuse? Secret mogul takeover of Shelton?”
“Moguls always meet at midnight,” says Strike, as he digs into his scrambled eggs and hash browns.
“It’s closer to morning,” I say, sticking a fork into my pancake stack. “This is clearly a straight-up, heroes-who-make-shit-happen-in-Shelton breakfast.”
“Well, I know you’re both more into world domination,” she says, “but if you want something local, I wouldn’t mind if you solved Shelton’s three-minute-stoplight problem.”
“Consider it done,” I say. “Though it will be classified, as with all of Shelton’s darkest secrets. So we must never speak of it.”
“Never,” she says, and her eyes linger on me a moment. Is she thinking about last night and our kiss? It’s probably only me replaying it over and over like my new favorite song. She clears her throat, breaking the moment. “Anyway. Time to catch the worm, I guess.”
She heads toward the door, her hand up and waving goodbye. As she goes, I remember the feel of her waist, the way her soft curls brushed my cheek.
“You’re staring,” Strike says, and I whip my head back to him. I shovel food into my mouth to buy some time. It’s embarrassing to be caught ogling Josie.
“I wasn’t,” I lie, which is a waste of breath. We’ve been friends for too long not to know exactly what the other one is thinking.
“You gonna make me say it?” Strike asks.
“Say what?” Even if he can read my face, there’s no way he knows about the kiss. I’ll continue to play dumb.
“Josie! The answer is right in front of you.”
“What are you talking about?” I look at Strike, and this time I’m not actually playing. I have no idea what he’s going on about.
“She’s adorable. Funny. Unique. She’s perfect.” He ticks off each point on his fingers.
“And she hates me,” I mutter. I don’t add that regardless of how lovely she is, there’s no way I’d ever date Josie. I don’t do relationships. Never have. Never will.
“Who cares? She doesn’t need to like you to work for you. Hate to tell you, but not everyone at SynthoTech is an Axe stan.” Oh, of course. He’s talking about She’s the One. I take another sip of my coffee, because clearly I’m not on my game today. I let his words soak in.
“I don’t think so. She’d be an amazing prototype, but…” I think about how Josie is one of a kind, hilariously weird, and cute and sexy as hell.
“But?”
“She’d be impossible to work with.”
“Bullshit. You want Niles von Grafenhagen to bite? Call Josie. Now.”
Seven
