Page 50 of My Vigilante Valentine

“That’s a longer story,” I finally told Chris, “and one you don’t get to hear. Not yet, anyway. You’re either in, or you’re out, purely based on what you know right now.”

Chris’s face went from mildly curious to completely baffled, and his gaze darted between Luna and me. “Butshegets to know?”

“She does.”

“Why does she get to know, and I don’t?”

“What are you, five?” Luna cut in.

And even though I wanted to crack a smile at that, Chris’s question bounced around my brain hard enough to leave dents in the interior drywall.

It was so loaded with implications that I wasn’t ready to face… but, really, even if I had no intentions to give voice to it, the answer was pretty simple.

Because she was Luna.

Because somehow, she’d made me want to let someone in for the first time since the accident—and maybe even before it.

And because from the moment I’d walked into this shop, she’d gotten to me in a way no one else ever had.

In good waysandbad. I was still making up my mind.

Finally—and perhaps most importantly, considering how often I felt like an oddly fortunate freak show—because she made me feel...

Human.

“Are you in?” I asked instead, tracking the way Luna inhaled sharply, her chest rising with the motion, only to freeze there like she was holding her breath.

Chris had better hurry up with his answer so she didn’t asphyxiate due to her sheer stubborn will.

“I’m in,” Chris replied.

As Luna exhaled, I did too.

“The phone,” I said by way of response, holding out a hand toward Luna. She brought it over without a second’s hesitation, and I nodded my thanks before handing it to Chris. “Can you crack it?”

Chris nodded like a bobblehead, his eyes lighting up at the challenge.

And just like that, the tension broke.

Luna clapped her hands. “Perfect! And while you work on that, Jax and I can figure out the logistics of our fake dating plan.”

I groaned. “Luna?—”

“No,” she cut in as she stepped up with her finger aimed at my chest. “You don’t get to ‘Luna’ me right now. Not after whatwe saw tonight. Sam and Fatima were our friends in high school and my regulars here. They came in every Tuesday for their graduate work study dates, and now they’re gone because some psycho decided that the act of being in love was punishable by death.”

I stared down at her finger, conflicted.

Not only had she pointed it at my chest, but she’d stabbed itintomy chest at various intervals during that tirade as punctuation.

The speed—and method—with which I would’ve handled that behavior from anyone else was enough to make me laugh out loud.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I just kept staring.

First, she made me fall in love with cookies that included more sparkle than cookie dough, and now I was letting her invade my space whenever she pleased, literally pushing my buttons the way no one else would dare?

Who was I, and what had this terrifying little woman done to me?

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