Page 11 of My Vigilante Valentine

His hair was adorably messy, like he’d rolled out of bed, decided against a mirror, and just accepted his fate. It was the only thing soft about him.

Not that I knew from touching him in any way, of course.

It justlookedreally soft.

And his face? Same as always—a blank slate that gave absolutely nothing away. If stoicism were an Olympic sport, Jax would take the gold without breaking a sweat.

I watched as he crossed the space with that purposeful stride. No hesitation, no awkward glances around the room like he wasn’t sure if he belonged.

Why?

Because that man belonged anywhere he wanted to belong, simply because he said so.

He headed to his usual corner table, half-hidden behind a tangle of plants and packed bookshelves. Our eyes met for half a second as he passed the counter.

And then, he gave me a nod—quick, polite, and paired with a tiny half-smile that absolutely melted me.

“Honestly? I don’t get the appeal,” Chris deadpanned.

I choked back a laugh. We both knew he got it.

It wasn’t just that Jax was hot—though, obviously, he was. It was the way he carried himself, like he had secrets stitched into the seams of his hoodie.

Like he’d seen things, done things, and survived them all without feeling the need to brag about it.

And from the day he walked into this shop a few months ago, I’d been hooked.

The fact that he didn’t seem to feel the same way was a nonissue.

I watched Jax set up at his table, pulling his battered laptop, a notebook, and a pen from his black, tactical-style backpack. He always did that before he ordered his coffee, like he had to stake his claim on his favorite table.

I liked that he felt comfortable enough to leave his stuff unattended. Kind of a strange thing to care about, but that was par for the course with me. Some customers packed up their stuff just to use the restroom, but my favorites left theirs sprawled around like my second home was their second home, too.

“You should just talk to him,” Chris said, as if it were that simple. “When he comes up here, I mean. Don’t just take his order. Try to… I don’t know. Get a word out of him other than his coffee order.”

“We’ve talked about more than his coffee order.”

“Try for more.”

I lifted a brow. “Why would I do that?”

“Maybe because it makes more sense to be obsessed with a regular dude than a masked vigilante?”

“Chill,” I hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening to us. “That’s how rumors get started.”

“Luna, you’ve spent the last few months alternating between avoiding looking at the guy and staring at him like he’s the last cup of coffee on earth. You guys have made plenty of small talk, but if you’re this into him, ya gotta do better. Ask him out. Step into your power.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words never made it out because, instead of the man in question coming over for his coffee like he usually did, he was already hunched over his laptop with a deep groove between his brows.

And then, against my better judgment, my feet were moving.

I had absolutely no plan—just this dumb, magnetic pull like he was gravity and I was the world’s most awkward satellite.

Bury me now.

But Chris was right. It wasn’t like I had a shot with The Blade, so why not see if I could turn my crush on Jax into something more?

Mid-stride, I spun around and went back for a mug, filling it with black coffee before resuming my mission.

---