My heart starts doing loopty loops. I reach out to take them, but he catches my wrist. His other hand finds the back of my neck and pulls me into him. The next thing I know, his lips are on mine, stealing the air from my lungs in a slow, desperate kiss that I don’t want to end.
I fall into him, and when his tongue licks my lips in a demanding plea, I open. He wastes no time tasting me.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine. “It’s a rare kind of reward, knowing I get to kiss you whenever I want.”
I press my lips to his once more. “Yeah, you can. I’m sorry I took so long to let you do it.”
“I’d wait a lifetime for you, Bookworm. But I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.”
By the timeI reach Bakes by the Lakes, I’m floating on clouds. Chase’s text from earlier has me grinning from ear to ear.
Eighty-Seven: Can’t wait to kiss you goodnight tomorrow.
Elena greets me at the bottom end of the coffee bar, handing me my pistachio latte. “Hello, smiley.”
I toss some change into the tip jar.
“It’s a beautiful day to smile.”
She has a teasing tone when she says, “And is that because a certain hockey player is coming home tomorrow after being away for six days?”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling so big and shouting out, “YES!”
Elena giggles. “Young love,” she swoons. “It’s sooo romantic. Reminds me of when I met my Theo.”
Normally, I stay and talk to Elena for a while, but the coffee lovers start to pour in. I’m just about to move and grab a table when the bell at the top of the door rings.
A chill snakes over my arms so suddenly the hairs stand straight up. The air shifts, but I can’t make sense of it at first. The click-clack of heels slices through the café’s chatter, and my pulse stutters.
I know that sound.
My body picks up on it before my brain does. Everything goes deathly silent, except for those steps.
I get the urge to spin around and check for danger, like I’m in an alley and someone’s following me. I don’t because I know it’s my irrational thoughts and traumas making me react this way.
But then I hear it—a woman’s voice.
“You should have known better. I never wanted this to happen, but you left me no choice.”
My body locks, every muscle turning to stone.
That voice. Those words.
I’ve heard them before.
It’s her—the woman who killed my father.
She’s here.
“Two flat whites, please. One oat milk, one regular,” she says, her words cutting straight to the point.
Every sound in the shop, from the beans pouring into the grinder to the milk being steamed, heightens.
“So, this isn’t for whoever I’m assuming just got fired on the phone. Is the second coffee for a boyfriend or…” The barista’s tone is playful and flirtatious.
The woman laughs, and my stomach bottoms out.
My father’s killer is standing at the top of the bar ordering coffee, and my local barista is flirting with her.
