1.2 | The Prince of Thieves

Chapter 39

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Also, the first chapter of Right Hand has been published! Remember to add Val's story to your library :D

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Hana sometimes wished she could be as brave as Haruki, as sassy as Mickey, as clear headed as Val or as decisive as Leon. But she could not, so she could only be herself. Just Hana. Not so brave, not so bold, a little apprehensive, a little unsure. But with a neat blade tucked into her sleeve. Sitting in a corner at the Starbucks across the road, she had the diner kept in sight for the past fifteen minutes or so. But Juan had not yet showed up. She wondered if he would appear at all, if the photographs had been a joke, if the whole meeting had even been real. Her half drunk mug of hojicha was cold, and she gave it a distasteful glance.

Anxiety gnawed at her for the umpteenth time. Maybe she had made a wrong, foolish decision. No one knew she was out, not even Leon. Maybe, just maybe, she could make a move before anyone discovered her, not that anyone should. But her nervousness was making her self-conscious. She gave her drink another glance, her nose wrinkling. Dried, brown remnants of the tea had stuck itself to the inner rim of the mug.

Then, she looked up, distracted by the footfalls of boots on wood. Loping noisily down the stairs from the floor above was Juan Gonzales, a smirk tugging at his lips. Hana felt stupid all over again. Of course he would have reached earlier. She looked aside, thinking how silly her actions had made herself look.

'I was wondering if you would come up,' he said as he approached her table. 'I saw you come in.' Then he jerked his head to the glass windows and to the diner opposite. 'Shall we?'

It was surreal entering a restaurant with a person whom she least expected to have dinner with. They were showed into a booth, thankfully away from the windows. It wouldn't do to have anyone she knew walking past and noticing them, and it would do even worse if any of Leon's men happened to glance in.

He looked well. Now that they were in proper light, she could study him more clearly, noting the contrast between this healthier looking Juan and the one from three years ago. The warm lighting above them had taken the edge off his green eyes. They were alight with interest as he studied the menu; no longer were they the dead pits of resignation that had stared back at her on that last day. His cheeks were filled out, and his jaw appeared softer; not the pale, hollow face that had belonged to a man who needed a table for support when he stood.

'My dear girl,' he drawled, not even lifting his eyes from the menu. 'If you stare at me any longer, your husband will get jealous.'

She made an annoyed choke. She wasn't staring at him because she liked him or anything. She was only appreciating what the three years away from New York's scene had done to improve him.

'He doesn't get jealous,' she said, the words rolling glibly off her tongue though she knew her husband could get very protective indeed. He was going to skewer her like a kebab if he were ever to find out with whom she was having dinner with.

Juan eyed her with a disbelieving look; his eyes narrowed, his brow creased.

'I hope you're kidding yourself right there.'

Hana had ordered a gnocchi with pesto sauce. She'd had the mushroom cream sauce variation the night before which had made her bloated all over again, but the savoury, earthy creaminess had been worth it. Just like yesterday, each piece of gnocchi was a bite of soft heaven, accompanied by the freshness of basil. They shared a dish of roasted cherry tomatoes whipped in olive oil and ricotta, and a side of portobello mushrooms coated in herby breadcrumbs and garlic mayo.