"Not yet," he replies, without a trace of irony, still examining the window lock with the intense scrutiny usually reserved for defusing bombs.
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for some indication that he's joking, that this is an elaborate bit he's committed to for reasons I don't understand.
He stares back, his expression carved from stone, absolutely dead serious, as if child-based home invasions are a genuine and imminent concern that I've been foolishly ignoring.
This is my life now. This is what happens when you make decisions three margaritas deep and then are too stubborn to unmake them.
"Kruk," I start, trying to sound reasonable, trying to sound like a person who has no control over this situation. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"You signed the contract."
"I was drunk."
"You were under duress. Emotional threat from"—he pulls a small notebook from his pocket, flips it open—"Derek Whitmore. Former romantic partner. Designation: The Target."
"He's not—wait,The Target?Derek's not the target. He's just my ex. He's going to be at the wedding and I wanted?—"
"To intimidate him." Kruk nods. "Tactical humiliation. I am familiar with this strategy."
"It's not astrategy.It's just—I had too much tequila and I thought it would be funny to?—"
"Funny."
The word lands flat. He watches me with the focus of a predator that's just noticed movement in the brush.
"You do not find this mission humorous now."
"No. I mean, yes. I mean—" I drag my hands through my hair, which is a mistake because my fingers get stuck in a knot. "Look, I can't bring you to my sister's wedding."
"Why not."
"Because you're—" I gesture vaguely at all of him. "You're seven feet tall and carrying abattle axe."
"Six foot eight. And the axe is traditional."
"It's avineyard wedding.There's going to be string lights and a harpist and centerpieces shaped like tiny wine bottles. You'll—people will?—"
"Be intimidated," he finishes. "As required."
"Notintimidated.Terrified. My mom will have a heart attack. My sister will kill me. And Derek—" I stop. Take a breath. "Derek will think I've lost my mind."
Kruk considers this.
"Good," he says.
"Good?"
"He will believe you are unpredictable. Dangerous. He will not approach." He taps his notebook. "Threat neutralized."
"He's not athreat.He's just a guy who dumped me because I once called him at two a.m. to ask if he thought crows could hold grudges."
Silence.
Kruk's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his posture. He leans in, just slightly, and I become very aware of how much space he takes up. How the air in the room seems thicker with him in it.
"He said you were too much," Kruk says, voice low.
I blink. "How do you?—"
