Page 12 of My Vigilante Valentine

Showing up empty-handed would be weird, right?

“Morning,” I chirped, setting the mug on Jax’s table with what I hoped was casual indifference. “Forget something?”

He looked up, dark eyes flicking from the mug to me, as if assessing my motive for this random act of kindness.

As he very well should.

“I would’ve gotten there eventually,” he said in a voice that could make a TikTok crime doc go viral thanks to his husky narration.

I lifted one shoulder in anoh-so-casualshrug. “Consider it a favor. On the house.”

“Thanks,” he replied, apparently rationing syllables.

I lingered, trying to think of something witty to say. Something that didn’t scream,I think about you more than is socially acceptable for this stage in our non-relationship.

I failed, opting for word vomit instead. “You’re welcome. But since I know you’ll be here for hours and will want at least two refills, maybe order a cookie or something to pay me back? Um. Or don’t. On the house is on the house, right? No subsequent purchase necessary.”

Jax pursed his lips… and was I dreaming, or was he trying to fight off a smile?

Then he gave the faintest nod, barely more than a tilt of his chin, and somehow, that tiny movement felt like a seismic event.

Without waiting to find out if any words would follow those gestures, I spun on my heel, retreating like I hadn’t just embarrassed the crap out of myself.

When I made it behind the counter with all the grace of a malfunctioning Roomba, desperately trying to look unfazed, Chris didn’t even try to pretend he hadn’t been watching.

“Well,” he said. “That was... something.”

“Hush,” I grumbled. “It was awkward, sure, but I just gave him coffee. That’s literally my job.”

“Ah, yes,” Chris nodded solemnly. “But you gave it with your heart, Luna. With your whole heart.”

I threw my ‘70s towel at him again, and instead of throwing it back, he draped it over his shoulder like an octogenarian star of a cooking show.

“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning in slightly. “What do you think he’s always working on? He doesn’t look like a college kid, and he’s not really the work-from-home stockbroker type.”

I shrugged, sneaking another glance. Jax was back to his typing, laser-focused, like my coffee gift had barely registered.

“Maybe he’s a white hat like me,” Chris suggested with a lift of his chin. “Saving the world one suspicious IP address at a time.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, rolling my eyes.

My cousin loved his life as a hacktivist—a hacker who was also an activist. But bless his dorky little heart if he really thought his internet hacking was the digital version of the sexy vigilante that stalked the streets of Slate Harbor.

Don’t get me wrong, helping people in any way was great, but The Blade?

Chris’s internet ninja skills hadnothingon The Blade’s real-life ninja skills.

“Maybe he’s a professional survey taker,” Chris went on, unaware that I’d internally squirreled away. “Or a fashion blogger.”

I snorted. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

But the thing was, all of these suggestions were off the mark.

There was something about Jax—somethingmore.

Whatever he was working on felt important, and I honestly didn’t even want to know what it was.

What if it was something bad?

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