Chapter 6
HARLOW
"That was amazing." Cass stood beside his table, his book held against his chest, hair fallen over one eye as usual. He didn't seem to notice. If I didn't know better, I'd think he just got out of bed. He had that tousled look, wild and careless.
Gina and Erin both hurried around, packing up tables and taking dishes into the kitchen. Both pretending they weren't listening.
Both were listening.
"Yeah?" I placed his empty glass in the bowl, holding them carefully.
If there was something I disliked, it was dishes broken unnecessarily. It happened. Occupational hazard. I didn't want to be the one doing the breaking. Not when the replacement was coming out of my pocket.
"Yeah," he echoed. "It got so busy in here, but you didn't look like you broke a sweat."
Right, it was about me, not the meatballs. I should be relieved. It wasn’t about the milkshake either. Shame, it was a particularly good milkshake, if I said so myself.
"I've had lots of practice," I said modestly. "You should see it here on a Saturday night."
"Is that an invitation?" he asked. "Do I need to make a reservation?"
He looked eager, like a puppy responding to a hint of cheese. Waiting and hoping to find some tossed his way. Ready to gobble it down in half a second flat and beg for more.
"No, and no," I said, frowning. "I mean, you can eat here if you want. We usually have a table or two spare if you're here early."
I spoke without thinking, blunt as ever. New Yorker, born and bred. It was who I was. I wasn't going to apologize for it, but sometimes I made myself cringe. For a moment.
Especially now, when he looked like I poked my toe into the side of his puppy. For the record, I'd never hurt an animal. I'd even been known to feed the ducks in Central Park once in a while. Proof I wasn't completely jaded, right?
"I'll make sure you get some garlic bread," I added, without knowing why.
I usually wasn't inclined to soothe a guy's ego, but Cass seemed genuinely nice.
I wasn't used to genuinely nice. That had to be it.
He had me on the wrong foot. Speaking without thinking.
I'd have to watch myself around him. A guy like this could bring down carefully constructed walls if I let him.
In fact, he seemed like the kind of guy who would drag over a ladder, set it up against those walls and climb right on over. Maybe hide behind them with me. Maybe take them down from the inside.
I couldn't let any of that happen.
He perked up.
"I love garlic bread." He hesitated, glancing down at the floor. Without looking up, he cleared his throat and said, "When I was in college, I might have gone into restaurants for the free garlic bread and then bolted. I was kinda…broke."
He looked regretful now, like he might march into every last of them and offer to pay a couple of dollars for bread. I had a feeling he'd do it too. He'd get some funny looks if he tried. Bread was my loss-leader, the smell bringing in customers to buy more food.
If I relied on it alone to pay the rent, I'd go broke in a day.
"You and plenty of other college students," I said.
A couple of them came in here to do that too, but I always made sure they left with their stomachs full.
Erin was one of them, although she wasn't a student at the time.
She was homeless after running away from her foster family.
I'd taken her under my wing, found her somewhere to live and gave her a job.
She repaid me by being like a little sister and sticking her nose into my business.
The girl got away with far too much and we both knew it.
We also both knew I'd continue to let her get away with it.
One day, when she was a Michelin star chef, she'd still get away with…well, not murder. Overstepping the line.
Pretending there was no line.
Erasing the line entirely.
Like I said before, I'm a bleeding heart. If I could save everyone like her, I'd do it.
Instead, I did what I could, one person at a time.
While at the same time remembering to be grateful I'd never had to sleep on a park bench.
Or know the pinch of an empty stomach. Not starving was one of the benefits of going to culinary school.
We had to taste everything we made and there was always plenty to take home at the end of the day.
For a couple of years, I lived on those leftovers, even the failures.
Especially the failures.
"What did you study?" I asked finally.
He pushed his glasses back up his nose and brushed his hair off his forehead. "You'll think I'm a total geek."
"I thought that when you sat there reading a book and eating lunch," I told him, teasing gently. "For the record, I'm not geek-phobic."
Especially when they were as adorable as he was. When I thought about it, he couldn't be more different from Boner, except that aura of darkness that lingered over both of them, and myself. Boner was blonde, athletic and a smartass, Cass didn't seem to be any of those things. So far.
Cass looked relieved at that. "I studied IT. I know, that comes as a complete shock, right?" He cocked his head and grimaced, his plush lips twisting to the side and pressing together.
"I would have guessed sports science, or business," I said flatly. He didn't look like the kind of guy who'd study either of those things and we both knew it.
"Thank you for not saying musical theatre," he said, making a face.
"You don't like musical theatre?" I asked.
"I love musical theatre," he said. "But that was what I did in my spare time, not as my major." His eyes widened. "Crap, did I say that out loud?"
"Yes, you did," I confirmed. "As it happens, I've seen Wicked five or six times, and South Pacific at least as many." I brushed hair off the side of my face and adjusted the bowl in my hand.
"The classics," he said wistfully. He half-closed his eyes and hummed a couple of bars of I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair.
"You can sing," I said appreciatively.
His face reddened. "It helps when you're in productions like that."
I responded with a short laugh. "I suppose it would. I've been told my singing sounds like a cat being tortured, so I'll spare you from the pain."
Now I thought about it, that could be useful the next time I had a guest like Gary in my apartment. Singing, on top of dripping water, would have them pleading for mercy and offering up names much faster. I should have thought of that sooner.
On the other hand, I had some dignity left.
Sort of.
"I should—" I started to excuse myself, when Gina hurried past, taking the bowl out of my hand and taking it to the kitchen. Taking my excuse with her. The woman was such a brat.
"Have dinner with me?" Cass asked, the words tumbling out in a hurry, like a waterfall. Luckily, without the water or spray of any kind. "I mean, you get a night off, right?"
"The restaurant is closed on Monday and Tuesday," I said slowly. I usually used those days to rest and research my next guest or target.
"Of course she'll go out with you," Erin called from the other side of the seating area. "Go on, Harlow. You two are adorable together."
I looked over and lowered my eyebrows at her. I'd never make meatballs out of her, but she was toeing the line again. I shouldn't let her get involved in my personal life and I'd do the same in return.
Who was I kidding? Her and Gina got involved in my personal life all the time, and they weren't going to quit any time soon. How many times did they tell me to lighten up and have some fun once in a while? At least on a weekly basis.
What is it they say about how difficult it is to find good staff?
I looked back to Cass to see him look hopeful again. Part of me felt like I should go into the kitchen, slice some cheese and toss it to him in return for him sitting or rolling over.
"I can do lunch on Monday," I said finally. Lunch was more casual than dinner. A couple of people getting together in the same place to eat, not a date. No expectations. No pressure.
"It's a date," Cass said, throwing that idea right out of the open door and onto the street, where it was promptly run over by a taxi as the driver honked his horn at the car in front of him.
"It's not a date," I said.
"It's a date," Gina said hurrying past again.
"Definitely a date," Erin said gleefully.
"I don't suppose you know anyone who needs a job in a restaurant?" I directed the question to Cass, along with a sarcastic smile directed at Gina and Erin. They didn't need to see it, they'd hear it in my voice.
"I don't know, I think they're doing a great job," Cass said. Because of course he did. At the same time, he was obviously not trying to irritate me, he was genuinely happy they were on his side.
I know, they were trying to be on our side, but there was no us. There couldn't be an us. He was a nice guy and I was…
Someone who deleted men who did horrible things to girls and young women. Cass deserved better than someone like me.
"I can pick you up at your place," he offered, pulling out his phone. I presumed to put my address in his contacts.
"I'll meet you," I said quickly. He definitely couldn't come to my apartment. Even with the Perspex box empty and put aside for now. It was better if he didn't even know where I lived. Safer for him and for me.
At some point the people I was targeting would figure it out and come after me. I didn't need him caught up in the crossfire.
"There's a food cart on the corner of Smith and Bradley," I said. "They sell the best pretzels in the city." Okay, that was one hell of a claim, but as far as I was concerned it was completely accurate. "I'll meet you there at twelve o'clock."
"I'll be there," he said, blinking a couple of times as though surprised I'd actually agreed to meet him anywhere. Maybe wondering if I'd actually turn up. Possibly trying to remember if such a food cart actually existed, or if I was trying to brush him off.
"I need to close up now," I told him. I grabbed the side of the door and gestured for him to step out so I could shut it behind him.
"Yeah, sorry." He stepped over hurriedly and almost tripped over the threshold on his way out. He windmilled his spare hand to stay on his feet. "This is getting to be a habit," he said when he righted himself. "You keep knocking me off my feet."
I ignored Gina and Erin's chorus of 'awww' as I smiled at him and closed the door before locking it.
I shook my head at myself and rubbed a hand over my forehead. What was I getting myself into?