Page 18 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“Huh,” he says.

“You forgot you were wearing that hat, didn’t you?” I am delighted. I am unreasonably, disproportionately delighted. “You walked all the way here, through public, past witnesses, wearing a hat that could have come out of a child’s birthday party goody bag… and you forgot it was on your head.”

“It was a gift.”

“From who? An aquarium? Did an aquarium adopt you?”

“It’s a work thing,” he says, with the dignity of a man standing on a sinking ship, insisting the orchestra keep playing.

“Wait.” I tilt my head, squinting at the letters again. “Is that supposed to say Girl Power? Because… okay, I’m seeing it now, and honestly? I’m into it. Very on-brand. Spice Girls were formative for me as a person. If you’re secretly a Girl Power guy, I will not judge you, I will in fact respect it.”

“It’s Gill. G-I-L-L. Like a fish.”

“Right. Obviously.” I give him an over-dramatic wink. “Gill Power. Very different message.”

“Completely different message,” he says defensively.

“Still kind of a vibe, though.” I smile, raking my eyes down his whole body, then back up to that monstrosity on his head. “What work requires Gill Power, specifically. Be honest. Are you a mascot?”

“I’m not a mascot.”

“A fish-themed children’s entertainer?”

He blinks at me for a beat… just a beat, but I feel it land somewhere under my ribs. “I genuinely cannot tell if you’re flirting with me or making fun of me.”

For one second, neither of us says anything. The espresso machine hisses behind the counter. Someone’s stroller squeaks past the window. I am suddenly, acutely aware of how little space there is between us, and how I have not yet taken a full step back.

“Both,” I say. “Obviously both.”

He laughs, that same short, surprised sound, like it keeps escaping before he can file the paperwork on it, and grabs a fistful of napkins of his own, mopping at the front of his shirt with brisk, no-nonsense efficiency. The stain’s not going anywhere, not really. It’s settled into the white cotton in a sort of abstract-art Rorschach situation, right over those delicious abs, and I try very hard not to think about the fact that I am now extremely familiar with the general topography of his chest.

Who does he think he is? Having a chest. In public. Where I can see it.

He glances at his watch (the one I tried to steal off him) and then around the cafe, scanning the room with a slightly furrowed look.

“You waiting on someone?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m⁠—”

A date, my brain supplies, instantly and with great confidence. Obviously a date. Look at him. Men who look like that do not sit in coffee shops alone by choice. Something in my chest dips. Small, sharp, and entirely unauthorized, given that I have known this man for approximately eight minutes total, and five of those was me trying to pull his watch.

“—meeting a guy.” He checks the door. Checks it again, like maybe the someone is hiding behind it. “He’s the one who told me this place has the best matcha in the District, which, frankly, feels like it’s on him now, given recent events.”

Oh. The dip reverses itself so fast I nearly get whiplash. Also not relevant. Also none of my business. Also, stop it, Erica.

He looks around one more time, frowning faintly. “He’s not here yet. Or he’s already gone. I… should probably check outside, though.”

Don’t go. Tell me your name. Ask my number this time, you absolute coward, I will let you, I will hand it over gift-wrapped.

“Probably for the best,” I say instead, because I have a crew to assemble, a family name to restore, a heist to plan, and retribution to exact. To quote Prince Humperdinck… I’m swamped. “I make a habit of leaving destruction in my wake. Ask the shirt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He’s backing toward the door now. Hat, stained shirt, and dignity all slightly worse for wear. And there’s that look again, the half-second of something before he tucks it neatly away. “See you around. Try not to steal anything on your way out.”

“No promises.”

And then he’s gone. Out into the Friday morning, leaving me standing by the napkin dispenser like I’ve just watched the stars and moon go with him, sucking all the air out of the room.

Get it together, girl. You’re here on business.