Chapter 10
HARLOW
I saw Cass long before he saw me. He sat on a bench, one knee jiggling as he looked around anxiously. Every so often, he pushed his glasses back up his nose. For once, his hair wasn't over his face. Only when I was close enough, I could see he had it held back with a small, black clip.
He was so adorable, I almost turned around and walked away.
Right before I could, he turned and saw me, his whole face radiating with a smile.
He leaped to his feet and hurried toward me, eagerness in every step.
"I wasn't sure you were coming," he said, giving me a hug that seemed to envelop my entire body. Maybe part of my heart and soul as well. It was warm, generous, and I surprised myself by not wanting it to end.
I found myself putting my arms around him and hugging him back before stepping away.
"I'm sorry, I should have asked first." He winced with his whole face, everything from his mouth to his eyebrows getting in on the action.
"It's okay," I said. "If I didn't like it, I would have said so."
"Right. Yeah. Okay. Of course." His eyes widened and his face turned pink. "Sorry, I'm so awkward sometimes. All right, all the time. Especially around women who are as pretty as you are." He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I won't be offended if you want to leave."
No, he wouldn't be offended, but he'd probably be hurt. There I was, once again thinking about his ego.
I wasn't going to stay to soothe his ego.
I was going to stay because he was refreshingly sweet.
A stark contrast to the rest of my life.
That was a good reason why I should walk away right now, but I couldn't bring myself to.
I shouldn't be using him for a few minutes of normality.
That was what I was doing, right? It felt like it.
"I'm good," I said. "Let's get pretzels?"
He smiled. "Yeah." He took my hand and we walked toward the pretzel cart. It wasn't until we got there and he pulled out his wallet that he realized he was holding my hand.
I thought he was going to apologize for that, but he didn't. He must have known what the answer was. If I didn't like it, I would have taken my hand back.
Honestly though, I liked it. It was another piece of normal in my otherwise crazy existence. Almost as if we were regular, everyday people.
If only he knew how irregular I was. He'd probably take off running for the hills. For now, we could enjoy each other's company, right?
"What kind of pretzel would you like?" Cass asked. He looked at me like he half expected me to choose a gourmet option. Fair enough, considering what I did for a living. When it came to pretzels, I had simpler taste.
"Plain with salt," I said.
He nodded and turned to the man who worked the cart. "Three, please. Actually, make that four. I'm hungry."
He was giving me the impression he was the kind of guy who was always hungry, ate a lot and never put on so much as a hint of fat. Like a growing, teenage boy.
Once again, I was reminded of an energetic, golden retriever. One who ate everything in sight before running circles around everyone. Literally.
"I can pay for mine," I started to say, but he already tapped his card and paid for everything.
"Fuck," he whispered, his card halfway back to his wallet. "I feel like I'm really screwing this up."
"You're not." I put a hand on his arm, surprised by how hard his bicep was. Apparently he did other exercise as well as running around in circles. A lot of it, from the feel of him.
"I owe you for all those milkshakes and lunch." He pushed his wallet into the back of his dark jeans and handed me the bag of pretzels.
"Let's call it even." I opened the bag, pulled one out and handed it back to him. The delicious scent of baked and boiled bread tickled my nose, making my mouth water.
"Deal." He pulled out a pretzel for himself and tapped it against mine, like we were toasting something. He took a bite and half-closed his eyes, groaning at the taste. "You were right, these are the best pretzels ever."
"Of course I'm right." I bit into mine and chewed, appreciating mine a little more subtly. "I know my pretzels."
He chuckled and led me away toward a food truck, this one serving—to the surprise of no one—milkshakes.
I shook my head when he asked if I wanted one, but he ordered a chocolate shake, the bag of pretzels tucked under his arm while he had his hands full with food and drink.
"It's not as good as yours." He sipped. "But it's still good."
"You really like those, don't you?" I ordered a soda and paid for mine before he could.
"I've never met a milkshake I didn't like," he agreed. "You must think it's weird. A guy my age still drinking milkshakes."
"I can't say I have an opinion about other people's drink choice," I said. "If that's what you like, the only person whose opinion matters is yours. Besides, you're not the only one your age who drinks them. Why do you think I have them on the menu?"
"For kids who eat there?" But he seemed to like my answer.
"For anyone who eats there," I said.
We found ourselves back at the bench, where we sat and ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Watching people walk past.
Tourists with phones in their hands, taking photos of, and with, everything.
A couple of dads walking past hand in hand, a kid to either side of them.
A couple of older women, laughing about something as they wandered past. Several bicycles carrying food orders.
The usual hustle and bustle of the city.
"You've lived here all your life?" Cass asked. "I mean, you said you know your pretzels. I got the impression…"
"You got the right impression," I said. "I was born here. Never lived anywhere else."
I looked over at him. "I've travelled around the country and a bunch of other countries.
I've never found anywhere else I wanted to live.
" I was almost certain my sister's killers still lived here.
Or did business here. Even if I wanted to leave, I couldn't. Not until her memory was finally put to rest.
"What about you?" I asked.
"I've been here for about a year," he said. "I came from the West Coast. I needed a change. So I applied for a job here and I got it."
"There's not many changes bigger than moving to the other side of the country," I said.
"Sometimes it feels like a different planet," he said. "But I like it here." Color creeping up his cheeks again, he added, "I like it even better since I met you."
"You must really enjoy being flipped onto concrete," I said wryly.
"I didn't hate it," he admitted, mumbling a little. "It's not every day you get flipped by a beautiful woman."
"Are you sure about that?" I asked, teasing gently. "A guy like you, you probably have women lining up to flip you."
That drew a chuckle from him. "If there is, I don't know about it. I bet you have men lining up to be flipped."
"If there is, I feel sorry for them," I said. "If being flipped is the best they can get…"
Cass laughed. "You'd be surprised. Some of us can only hope to get flipped."
He put down his pretzel on his lap and placed his hand on his forehead. "You must think I'm the lamest lame that ever lamed. The cringiest cringe to ever cringe. The… You get the idea."
"I don't think you're lame or cringey," I assured him. "I think you're sweet. Sometimes it can be difficult to meet people."
I didn't get the impression he was the kind of man who lived in his parent's basement, spent all day playing video games and then wondered why he couldn't get the attention of a woman.
He was awkward, but he had no problem putting himself out there.
Like he said, he wasn't good at social cues. That didn't stop him from trying.
"When I first got to the city, I was working sixteen-hour days," he said. "The only people I met were people from my office. They're nice enough, but even if I was interested, office romances can turn ugly." He pulled the straw out of his milkshake and drank the rest straight out of the cup.
"That's totally understandable. I don't want to date anyone I work with either," I said.
Of course, they were all women, but that was beside the point.
He was right, things could turn ugly. It was easier not to go there.
Especially when I was the boss. If they didn't quit, I'd have to fire them, and I always struggled doing that.
Yeah, killing people was easier than letting them go.
I know exactly how fucked up that sounds.
"Could you see yourself dating me?" Cass asked. "I mean, this is kind of a date, but maybe, I don't know, something more intimate."
I should have turned him down flat right now for both our sakes. Told him we could be friends and that was it. Stood up right now, walked away and hope he didn't follow. Whatever it was between me and Boner was complicated enough already, right?
Even so, I found myself saying, "I like you."
"I like you too." His smile was soft and full of hope. "So, dinner? I could cook for you. It won't be as good as your cooking, but I'd like to think it's edible."
No. Absolutely not. It was a terrible idea.
"I'd like that," I said, the words coming out of my mouth, which seemed intent on ignoring my brain. "I'm sure whatever you cook will be delicious." I admit the idea of someone else cooking for me was appealing. As much as I loved to cook, doing it every night got tedious.
His eyes widened. I could almost see him thinking, scrambling. Trying to figure out why he offered to cook for a professional chef. But then realizing even if he fucked it up completely, we could order food to be delivered. It wasn't the meal that mattered, it was getting to know each other.
Which, in spite of myself, I wanted.
"Tell me where and when and I'll be there," I said.
"Next Monday?" Once again, he looked relieved and hopeful at the same time.
"It's a date," I said.
What are you doing? I asked myself. The only answer I could give myself was that I was getting to know a normal guy, hoping like hell I didn't ruin his life.
Considering who I was and what I did in my spare time, I was going to have to be incredibly careful.
In spite of myself, I was looking forward to it. Maybe I could juggle normal and avenging angel.
Somehow.