Page 14 of My Vigilante Valentine

Small price to pay.

But the thing about routines, even for someone with as flexible a schedule as mine, was that they snuck up on you. One day, it was just a cup of coffee and some free wifi after mine went on the fritz and the next…

Haunting Wilde Brew while searching for my next take-down was a non-negotiable part of my schedule.

Which was how I wound up here now, freshly showered after my workout. The quirky shop—or, maybe, the thought of seeing its owner—had pulled me in before I realized what my feet were doing.

Which was stupid, considering how much I wanted to forget that she existed.

I exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away as I opened the door. But then, a new thought slipped in. Was it dangerous for me to keep showing up here as myself after she’d witnessed The Blade at the bank that day?

No…

There was no way she’d recognized me.

Obsessedor not.

The door chimed overhead as I walked in, and I winced like it had announced my lack of self-control to the world.

The familiar mix of coffee, old books, and something sweet hit me as I scanned the room out of habit, taking in the eccentric shop that had somehow become something of a refuge for me over these last few months.

Mismatched chairs were placed in open spaces and cozy nooks.

The shelves were stuffed with books that weren’t sorted in any way that made sense—not that anyone around here seemed to care.

Plants hung from those trendy, cream-colored rope holders like laid-back sentinels, soaking up the morning sun.

And then…

There was Luna.

She moved behind the counter with a chaotic cadence that had me both in awe of her and also wondering how nothing had burst into flames yet. She had her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, and my attention snagged on a few wavy strands that grazed her cheeks.

As I passed the counter on the way to my spot, Luna laughed at something her captive audience had said. The sound skated over me, hitting every nerve in its path.

Clearly, she was doing just fine despite having recently had a gun pointed in her general direction.

That was a good thing, obviously, but why did I care so much?

Brushing it off, I made a beeline for my table and slid my backpack to the chair so I could mark my spot. Deciding not to risk another hand-delivered coffee, I ordered at the counter, not at all cool with how disappointed I was that it was one of Luna’s employees who’d taken my order and not her.

Then, I returned to my table and pulled out my laptop, working hard to narrow my focus.

But, of course, my eyes betrayed me.

Every time that woman laughed with some random customer, they flicked up like they were desperate to witness the smile that went with that sound.

And the laugh itself? It was annoyingly faultless.

Warm and unfiltered, the kind that wrapped around your brain like Saran wrap until it was starved of oxygen, and all coherent thought became impossible.

It wasn’t until she moved on to less laugh-inducing conversations that I finally made some progress hunting my monster of the week.

That is, until she ruined it by approaching my table, a plate balanced in her hand like she was on a mission of her own.

I glanced at the plate that she held under my nose with no regard for my personal space—or sanity. Three cookies stared up at me, shaped like hearts and drowning in a sea of pink frosting and sprinkles.

Andglitter. Actual glitter.

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