Page 32 of Himbo Hitman
My deal with him wasn’t difficult either. The other two people I was supposed to kill managed to do it just fine, so as far as I’m concerned, St. Clare is trying to be difficult. It wouldn’t be my fault if I shot him, really, because he’s been given lots and lots andlotsof warning.
“Perry?”
“Huh?” I glance up at Elle, and this time, even Margot is watching me. “What?”
“I asked if there’s anything we should know?”
That makes me pause because I can only imagine their reaction to finding out about my almost job pursuit and how close I’d come to being successful at it. Instead, I grab the can of whipped cream and shoot it at her nose.
Elle jolts back with a screech before bursting into way-too-loud laughter. Then she turns to my sister. “Be a dear and lick it off my face.”
“We’re in public,” Margot answers, completely deadpan, and I’m about to tell her not to be such a killjoy when Elle steps closer and rubs their noses together. Whipped cream smears between them both, and it makes me all schmoopy to see someone who constantly challenges Margot and pulls her out of her shell.
Then Elle licks the whipped cream off Margot’s nose before my sister can dodge her for the napkins.
They’re so sweet. I’ve loved Elle from as soon as I met her because I’ve never seen Margot so ridiculous for anyone, and also, we match. Both a little lost and a lot carefree, only Elle has the money behind her to be so irresponsible. Me, not so much.
Margot finally wrangles her and wipes the mess gently from Elle’s face. The softness in Margot’s expression clears out the restlessness I’ve been feeling because this is all I ever wanted. Everyone in my life to be happy.
“We’ll see you tonight?” Margot asks, dot of cream missed near her jaw.
“Sure will.” I reach over to clean it off for her. “My turn to bring dinner.”
Even the suspicion she eyes me with doesn’t clear out my good mood.
Instead, it’s two words that reach me as they’re leaving.
“Good morning.”
I swing around to find St. Clare at the register. Tussled blond hair a little damp from the rain we had this morning, and blue eyes sharply watching me. My brain nearly explodes, and I’m so, so close to asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but then that would sort of give me away, so I swallow back all the frustrations instead.
“St. Clare.” I pull up at the register, heart beating as erratically as that first day he popped up out of nowhere. “Surprised to see you here.”
His eyes narrow a smidge. “Why? I’m here every morning.”
Shit. Yes. That. “Cappuccino?” I squeak, trying to say as little as possible. I doubt he’d spontaneously make the link between me and his would-be killer, but who the fuck knows what could give me away.
The problem is that the back-and-forth banter we’ve perfected over the last week gives me a buzz, and the need to feel that is wrestling with my annoyance. Which is making me even more annoyed.
And St. Clare’s unwavering stare isn’t doing much to help the jitters. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second coffee already.
I’m so nervous I feel like I need to shake out every limb, but I keep it contained as he nods.
“Please.”
I ring up the total, and he pays with cash like usual, only instead of like usual, I throw his change back as fast as humanly possible. It’s past our morning rush, and unfortunately, I have no other customers waiting, which means when St. Clare moves around to the pickup counter, he’s the sole focus of my attention.
When all he does is watch me, I can’t hold it in anymore.
“So … fun morning? Good morning? Everything is good?”
“Everything. What about you?”
“Just have a, umm, problem. Nothing major.” I glare at him, but apparently, the glare has no effect because he goes on looking at me.
“A problem?”
“A …” I squeeze the handle of the milk jug tighter. “Coffee-related problem. It’s fine though. I’ll deal with it.”
