Page 92 of My Killer Blind Date

I’m thinking this is someone I could really love.

And I’m not that far from falling.

Chapter Thirty-one

I wake up to late-morning sunshine streaming on to the bed and flop my arm over, noting how messy the covers are …

Right. Liam slept over. Like a mini carousel in my head, images from last night flicker through, bringing the ghosts of sensations. The way Liam kissed me. The feeling of his chest pressed against mine. The torrent of pleasure that man coaxed out of me—

I could use a repeat.

I crane my neck to see the time on my bedside alarm clock. Seven thirty. Meaning I need to leave for work in forty-five minutes. It’s hard to imagine going about business as usual today. Picking up bodies and filling out paperwork like I didn’t just say goodbye to my friend yesterday. Will life ever feel normal again? How long will it feel like I’m living with my chest blown open?

I roll out of bed, forcing all these grim thoughts to the side. First, coffee.

Still in my T-shirt and underwear, I pull my hair into a ponytail and pad into the main room to a most welcome vision. Liam, shirtless, working an espresso machine, the rich scent of coffee already in the air. He’s tamping the grounds down, the muscles in his back flexing.

I take a minute in silence to admire the view.

‘Coffee?’ he says without turning around.

‘Please,’ I say in my raspy morning voice, returning to my perch on the counter next to the purse-disaster I spilled out yesterday.

‘Turns out you had a new-in-the-box espresso machine under your sink.’

I chuckle and yawn. ‘Oh yeah … my parents gave it to me. I think it was their “sorry we’re moving to Florida” gift? I should have set it up, but it seemed complicated …’ … and I forgot I owned it …

He raises an eyebrow and flicks a button on the machine, as if to demonstrate how perfectly simple it is. It rumbles to life, then spews a rich, dark stream into the waiting mug.

‘I was about to make eggs too, if you’d like some.’ He turns off the machine, pours foamed milk into the coffee and finally turns toward me, grinning.

I have to laugh as I accept the mug. ‘I love your eggs, but you’re going to spoil me.’

‘Spoil?’ He snorts. ‘It’s breakfast, Margot. This is basic. You just wait until I actually spoil you.’

My body warms as a few ideas of how I’d like to be spoiled flit through my brain.

As Liam makes his cup of coffee, I take a teensy sip of mine.

Oh, fuck, that’s good. Why the hell have I been drinking instant all these months? I owned a coffee machine this whole time! I want to be a freaking coffee shop owner! What have I been doing?

Surviving, my mind supplies.

‘How’d you sleep?’ he says.

‘Like the dead. You?’

‘Restless. I’ve been up since five.’ He runs a hand over the rough stubble on his face.

‘Oh, wow.’

‘I hadn’t considered it might be a serial killer until you mentioned the other victims last night.’ He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. ‘I’ve been looking into the influencer – Brooke Walsh.’

‘Found anything?’

‘Plenty. She’s all over the internet. But nothing noteworthy. And no apparent connection with the other victims.’

After another sip of coffee, I say, ‘I should probably fill you in on some stuff. I just found out that Zoe’s two paintings are portraits of the first two victims.’