Page 15 of My Vigilante Valentine

Because apparently, someone thought it was a good idea to make a version of torture dust that was edible.

She set the plate down in front of me with zero hesitation, her smile unapologetically wide. “You look like you wanna be a taste-tester.”

She said it casually, but there was something in her eyes—like this was more about having an excuse to talk to me than the cookies.

And that was bad.

I had to do something.

I blinked at the plate. Then at her. Then, back at the plate.

“Come on,” she said, a hint of pleading in her tone. “I’m trying to perfect my Valentine’s Day specials for next month. Give them a try. Consider it a complimentary dose of joy. You look like you could use it.”

“First free coffee, now free… sparkly cookies?”

She nodded. “Part of my customer loyalty program. Perks include unsolicited baked goods and occasional harassment.”

My jaw tightened. “I’m allergic to unsolicited baked goods.”

And that harassment part? It definitely shouldn’t have sounded as appealing as it did.

“Wow, tough break.” Her smile grew, nearly blinding me now. “I’d hate to be you.”

She had no idea.

I stared at her, waiting for her to take her cookies and walk away. Almost willing her to.

She didn’t.

Instead, she surprised me by cocking her head, eyeing me with more open curiosity than I was comfortable with. “You know, you’re here so often, I’m considering charging you rent instead of lavishing you with all this free stuff. What am I doing?”

“Good question.”

“Ooh, or I could get you a plaque for your favorite table,” she went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “But don’t worry, I wouldn’t put your name on it.”

I didn’t want to take the bait, but her eyes were sparkling more than the cookies now. I sighed. “What would it say?”

“I’m thinking something along the lines of, ‘Reserved for Broody McGlareface.’ Too long? Yeah, you’re a short-name kinda guy. I’ll workshop it.”

“You do that.”

A laugh burst out, quick and light. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. But do me a favor, will you?”

I pursed my lips in an unspoken gesture for her to go on.

“Try not to scowl too hard while eating those cookies. Unless they’re really gross, that is. You’re a taste tester, remember? I might think they’re bad unless you let me know otherwise.”

I gave her a flat look.

“I mean it,” she warned.

Then she chuckled and walked away, leaving me with the plate of offensively cheerful cookies and the distinct feeling I’d just lost a battle I hadn’t even known I was fighting.

I stared at the cookies, then at the door.

What were the chances I could pack up and leave without her noticing?

Bad. The chances were bad. Luna Wilde was dangerously aware of me, and while the idea of that did something to my insides that I had no desire to look too hard at, that wasn’t a good thing—asafething.

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