As the last person dropped with a death gurgle, the cook rang the bell. “Order up!” The man, breathing hard and covered in the crimson flow of life and death—i.e., blood—looked at me, straightened his back, and adjusted his armory. “Can I get that to go?” And that’s how I ended up boxing up a murderer’s breakfast and possibly falling in love, because even though he wasn’t particularly handsome or incredibly charming, he was competent and self-possessed, and if no one ever told you that confidence is sexy, then allow me to be the first: confidence is sexy. Full stop. I don’t care what you look
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