First to Fail (Unraveled #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,3

the vendor offering Greek fare. “I’ll join you. I’ve never had one.”

“I’ve had one in Greece. Never from a parking lot,” she said wryly and started for the truck.

“I would love to travel someday.” We got in a line three people deep. The workshops hadn’t ended yet, otherwise the wait would be twenty minutes or more just to order. “I was technically a kid when my daughter was born, and any extra cash went to her and her mother.”

I hadn’t meant to be that bluntly honest, but when it came to being a single parent and dating, full disclosure was best. I learned the hard way.

When I’d finally had the funds to travel, Jaycee’s mother had decided she couldn’t handle being a mom, and I’d been promoted to full-time dad. I’d quit my lucrative job to find something where I could be around for my daughter.

“I’ve traveled my entire life. It came with my family, I guess.” She hadn’t said what her last name was. What would go with Natalia? “Oh my god, they make their own flatbread? I wish I could eat here all week.”

We reached the window and put in our order. She extracted some cash from a well-concealed pocket before motioning to me to add my order to hers.

“No, my treat.” I’d never had a date pay before, but I hadn’t been on a date in…too long. Since I’d always been the one asking, I’d always paid, and technically, I’d asked today, too.

She waved my offer off. “I think I can spare a twenty.”

I didn’t protest and added my order to keep from insulting her. We moved to the side to wait for our food with the people who’d ordered before us.

A chance meeting had morphed into a pseudo date. I could get used to this. “You saved me earlier, now you’re buying my food. You’re gonna think I’m taking advantage of you.”

Natalia smirked. “You don’t strike me as that type of guy. Valaria has a good sense of character.”

When our food was ready, we made our way to one of the picnic tables set up on the far end of the parking lot. The convention center blocked any wind, the sun was out, and even though it was October, the temperature was mild. Sweater weather—or skintight maroon latex weather.

As we ate, we people watched, discussing costumes and outfits, and guessing at the origins of the more unique cosplay characters. Like me, Natalia had watched every episode of Face Off. Her laughter was one of the best sounds I’d ever heard. Given the heavy topics she’d touched on earlier and the way she would clear her throat and stare down at her plate after a giggle, I suspected she didn’t laugh often. It was like her mirth caught her off guard.

What was the real color of her eyes? The answer to the question seemed more critical as our time wound down.

What did my sexy assassin really look like? If she was as stunning as her personality, I was a goner.

A group of teenagers walked by and Natalia inspected them, her eyes narrowed. A moment later she dismissed them like she hadn’t recognized any of the kids.

She ate with her mask in place. Natalia No Last Name. But I couldn’t fault her for not opening up to me and giving me free access to her life story like the top flap of a comic book. I had taught Jaycee not to give away all her personal details to the first guy who showed a little interest.

Our meal was over too soon, and I had to get back to work. I grabbed our wrappers and took them to a garbage can. When I turned, she was right behind me. We walked back to the entrance to the convention hall.

“When can I see you again?” I asked as soon as we got inside.

Just then, the doorways to two conference rooms opened and people with robes and capes—and the occasional plain street clothes—flooded out. I hooked Natalia’s arm and pulled her around the corner. The bathrooms were in the opposite direction, making this part of the conference center relatively private.

I stopped to face her but looked over her shoulder to see if we were going to get interrupted. Foot traffic was going in a different direction and we were mostly isolated. I looked back at her. Her lips parted as she gazed up at me.

I had one question—what’s your phone number?—but I couldn’t ask it. I wasn’t worried about calling her