Fucking hell. She was even more wholesome up close.
“Hi, there,” she said. “What can I get started for you?”
I froze just in front of the door, jaw opening soundlessly.
She waited.
I scanned the menu. My brain registered words but not meaning.What the hell is a flat white?I didn’t drink coffee unless it was caffeinated sludge out of a paper cup.
Her smile didn’t falter, but I saw her tilt her head patiently. She looked like she was happy to wait forever. I cleared my throat and walked over to the counter, now the only object between us. I could reach across and wrap my hands around her throat from here, drag her onto the floor. She would break so easily. Even by hand, with no weapon, it could be so quick.
“…whatever you think I’d like,” I finally said.
She laughed, the sound soft and sincere. “You sure about that? I’ve been known to get creative.”
I nodded. “Surprise me.”
She reached for a mug and turned away, and I let out a breath. I felt like I could breathe again, now that I wasn’t caught in her gaze. She mixed things together like a bartender, and then she was turning around to pass the mug across the counter. Her fingers brushed mine in a way that sent something sharp and unwelcome straight through my spine.
“It’s a honey lavender latte,” she said. “A little sweet, a little strange. Felt right for you. Reading your aura, you know.”
She motioned with her hand, making a circle around my face from a distance, winked, and smiled again. I didn’t return it but something about the way her eyes crinkled at the corners made me feel like I didn’t have to. Like she didn’t expect more than what I was capable of giving, and she was satisfied with that.
I took a sip.
Fuck. It was good. Frustratingly good. Warm, smooth, subtly floral. Nothing like the bitter trash I was used to.
“You like it?” she asked, cocking her head.
I nodded once. “It’s fine.”
She grinned. “I’ll take that as high praise. Feel free to have a seat and enjoy it.”
I slid into a table in the corner with my back to the wall so I could face the front door; old habits die hard and all. She moved on to the next customer, chatting with a woman holding a toddler. She gave a free chocolate chip cookie to the kid. I watched her, catalogued her movements, but every time I brought my thoughts back to the mission, she’d laugh or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and my calculations unraveled.
Matteo had said she was a loose end, but this wasn’t someone tangled in crime. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Isn’t that the story of everyone’s life, though? An untied shoe, a hesitation, tripping over the sidewalk… all of this could have put her off the trajectory of being a witness. That moment was going to define her life; it was going to end all of this. She was a light – a tiny ball of sunshine – that would soon be snuffed out because her path crossed those of people who didn’t even know who she was before.
But, again…why did I fucking care?
I stayed until the shop closed. Didn’t mean to – I just kept thinking that if I waited a little longer, I could come up with aplan and execute it tonight, so I could get this over with. She had no cameras. There were two doors: the front and one that led into the back alley, where the dumpsters were. Traffic on this street was nearly nonexistent, and with the glare of the lights at this time of night, you couldn’t see inside unless you were right beside the glass.
She interrupted my thoughts again by taking the seat across from me and sliding a blueberry muffin across the table. I bristled, sitting up straighter and regarding her like something venomous that was uncomfortably near.
“Looks like you could use something solid,” she said. “You’ve got that whole ‘brooding tortured soul’ thing going on.”
I stared at her.
She shrugged. “I used to date an actor. I can spot the performance types. Are you a poet or something?”
That almost made me smile.
She wiped her hands on a rag and glanced toward the back room. “I’ve gotta clean up. You’re welcome to sit, but I’ll be locking the door in about twenty.”
I nodded. “Yeah… I’ll get out of here. Nice place you’ve got. I appreciate the drink and the muffin.”
She gave me one last, curious look. “You never told me your name.”
I paused, because that was a line I didn’t cross. Names were leverage, intimacy. But I felt inclined to tell her, since the knowledge would end with her anyway.
