“Me? Mood? Nope. I’m totally and completely fine.”

“You’ve spilled two coffees since we’ve been standing here, love.”

I’m not sure how that’s proof of anything, but now she mentions it, I am feeling … jittery? Annoyed? Expectant?

Definitely not foul.

But there is something off that’s making it impossible to be happy in the moment and give my customers all the love and attentiveness they deserve to start their day with. I might have the teeny, tiniest idea of what’s gotten me so shamoozeled in the first place too.

St. Clare.

I don’t hate him, and I couldn’t kill him, so I’m screwed if he doesn’t listen to my very empty threats this time. Maybe I could contract a contract killer and pay them a chunk of what I was paid. Like a pyramid scheme of premeditated murder. That would free up all of my everything, and I’d be able to go back to coffees and Sir Squeakerton and the daily scramble of bill balancing. I haven’t killed anyone, but if I stick it out in this life, it’s only a matter of time, and I’m not interested in that for me, if I’m honest.

No judgment to Luther and Arlie—I’m sure they’re the bestest lil killers—but I’ll sit this one out.

So long as St. Clare does.

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 and lots of 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.