Hayes stared at me, silent. It was clear he was studying me—analyzing. I loathed it. Just because he happened to save my life didn’t mean he could dissect me like a science experience.
I couldn’t let him see the mess. I couldn’t let him see me.
I tossed the towel onto the counter and crossed my arms, ready to escape his presence. “If you’re here for books, turn around. If you’re here for Carrie, she’s at the register. You and I both know Rossy is the last person on earth you would need to see unless Red Snake has been hired by a tea company to track down where all the missing tea has gone—”
“Did you pull that out of your ass, or does the bullshit just roll off your tongue naturally?” he drawled. I watched in fascination as all the politeness melted from his face, leaving a stone-cold glare in its wake.
Suddenly, I missed the smile.
I cleared my throat. “If you’re here for coffee, tell me your order and I’ll make it. Other than that,” I gestured between us, “this isn’t going to happen.”
“This?” he parroted, stepping closer to the counter. My eyes decided to betray me then, scanning his outfit and hating how good he looked in jeans and a Henley. It wasn’t just any Henley. It was hunter green, just the right shade to make his eyes pop. “And what wouldthisbe, Temper?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped as the small dishwasher behind me dinged and popped open. Good, I had something to do with my hands.
He raised a brow. “You threatened to kill me five seconds after we met.”
“Yes, my best friend had been kidnapped, and you swooped into town with your Superman act. So I needed to make sure you were able to handle the job.”
His jaw tightened and a flash of something shot through his intense gaze, but it was gone before I could get a read on it. “Just here to check on you. It’s been a few months since—”
“Ninety-seven days. Yes, I know.” My eyes widened as his brows lifted.
Shit.
Shit.
Damn.
Fuck.
I cleared my throat and gestured to my black jeans and Nirvana top. “Clearly, I’m good. All in one piece. Thanks for stopping by,” I said just before giving him my back.
“Just because you’re in one piece on the outside doesn’t mean you aren’t broken on the inside, Margo,” he replied after a few moments of thick silence, his voice closer. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I grabbed three mugs off the top rack, stacking them on the shelf behind the espresso machine. I snorted, shaking my head. “Mr. Perfect Superman.”
“Margo.”
A lump manifested in my throat, harsh and painful as memories of that cold shed came forth. I was supposed to die that day.Hewas supposed to kill me; he told me so just before he knocked me out.
“Margo, look at me,” Hayes commanded. Suddenly his hand covered mine, his fingers touching the rim of the mug as I reached up to stack it on top. I twisted my neck, finding him right behind me, his head bent, face close. We set the mug down together and I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on to it, suspended. “You can talk to me,” he assured. “It’s okay to not be okay. No one should ever have to go through what you did.”
I blinked, my eyes dropping to his lips. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, Superman.”
His eyes scanned my face. “No, I don’t,” he murmured.
The bell above the door chimed, and a second later, a local called, “Margo, I need the biggest coffee you got! Hey, Sarah. Hi, Carrie.”
My eyes flicked up to meet Hayes’. Hell, even his lashes were perfect. “I have to make coffee now,” I murmured.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he demanded softly.
So I did what any mess would.
I lied. “I’m okay, Hayes.”
“Americano.”