I fucking hate zucchini.
Still, I follow her deeper into the market, calculating how many hours of this charade I’ll have to endure before I can get her alone and extract the necessary information.
The diamonds are the mission.
Not the way her hair glints in the sunlight. Not the dent in her bottom lip from her front teeth when she smiles…a charming and endearing imperfection.
And certainly not my unsettling desire to witness her falling apart in my hands.
The diamonds.
She hops to a halt at an apple vendor’s stall, the weathered wooden structure adorned with baskets brimming with fruit in vibrant hues of red, green, and yellow. I position myself beside her, just close enough to catch the vendor’s cordial greeting. She knows everyone here, weaving connections like a spider spins a web, except she uses glittery, sparkly, syrupy-sweet thread.
The older man behind the table beams, his leathery face crinkling with affection. “My favorite teacher. How many this week?”
“Two dozen, mixed varieties, including Gala and Zestar, please.” Her hand dives into her shapeless purse and withdraws her wallet. “Red, green, and yellow.”
He nods, selecting apples with care and placing them in a paper bag as if each one is a treasure. “For the little ones again? Always doing something fun.”
His smile wilts when he finally notices me, then redoubles as she leans forward and recaptures his attention. Her sunshine banishes my darkness.
Fascinating.
“Always. Food and games are the best ways to keep their focus.” She offers me an inviting grin, as if I might share in her excitement over this mundane exchange. “He gives me a discount for my class.”
With a wink, the vendor adds two extra apples to her bag. “On the house.”
I’m intrigued by the ease with which she navigates this world, her laughter light and free. She’s a stark contrast to the shadows I inhabit.
I should concentrate on the objective, on the diamonds, but I keep finding myself both distracted and captivated by her simple joys.
Chloe accepts the heavy bag with both hands. “You’re too kind.” She nudges my shoulder before dropping her voice as if sharing state secrets. “For Tuesday. We’re sorting and graphing them and then making applesauce.”
I nod. “Productive.”
Her smile widens, and I’m again stabbed by its intensity. If I believed in witches, I’d think she was casting a spell on me.
Focus. The mission.
My gaze sweeps over the crowd, scanning for movement patterns and threats. Anything to distract from Sunshine on Legs walking beside me.
I tense.
There.
Two young men linger near the honey stand, both in hoodies that seem out of place in the warm sun. Their attention is glued to their phones, though they’re not scrolling or otherwise engaging with the devices. They’re faking. The shorter of the pair sports expensive sneakers that clash with the rest of his cheap attire. The taller guy keeps a hand stuffed in his pocket, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to disappear.
The taller one’s eyes flit to Chloe before darting to her purse, from which her wallet and iPad stick out. Frustration clenches my gut.
The shorter guy pretends to text but glances up every few seconds, tracking her movements with predatory interest.
I subtly reposition myself to get a direct view of these two fuck nuts. They’re so zeroed in on Chloe, they don’t even notice me. Big mistake.
Beneath my casual facade, every muscle coils, ready to spring into action.
“Do you want to try the cider samples?” Chloe remains relaxed and carefree, unaware of the looming threat. “They make it fresh. You can watch them press the apples.”
Under different circumstances, her obvious delight might actually tempt me.
