Huntress

Chapter 15

I couldn't remember the last time I cleaned my house. And when I returned from my scouting assignment – the second out of four to find the best way in – I was convinced that I wouldn't be able to take another second of being on my feet. Apparently, all it took was a hot bath to remind me that Ryder was coming over. And my house looked like a dozen thieves had just pillaged it. I had grown up in a spotless house that was always deep-cleaned before guests came over, and here I was, living my mother's nightmare. If she could see me now. Well, if she could process what she saw, she would be livid with me.

And didn't I deserve a clean home beyond the purpose of presenting it to someone else?

I got to work while putting on one of my favorite playlists. Who said cleaning had to be suffering? I danced around my kitchen with a broom then over my carpets with a vacuum cleaner that was older than I was. I hummed tunes as I scrubbed toothpaste off my bathroom mirror and gunk out of my kitchen sink. Though I had a mountain of laundry, it didn't seem so bad when I took it one item at a time. The amount of clothing I had was insane now that it was actually folded and stuffed into a dresser. I did all those things I hadn't done in months, from dusting baseboards to scrubbing toilets. And when I stood in my sparkling living room at the end of it, something tingled in my chest. Not quite pride, not quite happiness. A little ember burning in my heart.

I felt human.

Not a robot who worked behind a counter serving customers all day. Not an assassin who dealt killing blows.

I was just a young woman, in my own place, doing something for me. And a cute guy who would be arriving sooner than I liked.

My next predicament was finding something decent to wear. Yes, all of my clothes were clean now, but I didn't own much outside of sturdy pants with millions of pockets and moisture-wicking tops. I wanted to look comfortable, but not too comfortable, like I wasn't trying for him. Where did that leave me for make up?

While leaning over my dresser, I gave a frustrated sigh and almost slammed the drawer shut. I needed someone for this. I needed a friend I could call and lean on, someone who would giggle over my options and tell me that yes, I could wear mascara, or no, I shouldn't because it looked like I was trying too hard.

But, like my home, friendships had been neglected and had fallen apart.

I eventually decided that if I could deliver a killing blow, I could also dress myself. Buttery black leggings were pulled up my thighs along with an oversized tourist shirt that I had picked up in New York on a family trip. My slightly damp hair was pulled into a messy braid that trailed down my back like an auburn rope.

With five minutes to spare, I pirouetted around my home, making sure that anything personal, strange, or dangerous was put away. The last thing I needed was to have a conversation about why I owned so many daggers.

Then, he was at my door.

I almost ripped the damn things off the hinges to get to him.

"Hey," he greeted, already thrusting something into my hands.

While I stepped back to let him in, I saw that I was holding a nice wooden board covered with an assortment of cheeses and meats, along with some fruit and crackers.

"Hi. This looks amazing, but you didn't have to bring anything." I said the words but my mouth was already watering. Like the terrible hostess I was, I hadn't even considered feeding him. This was a blessing.

"Come on, you finally tell me your name and you invite me to your place. We have to celebrate." He slung off his light jacket and hung it on the hooks. "Wait, this is your house, right?"