Page 49 of The Colour of Revenge

“Alright, don’t judge me.” He pauses dramatically as if his next words will be some amazing revelation. “I really love gummy worms.”

I snort. “Gummy worms?”

“I saiddon’tjudge me!”

“I hope they’re at least the fizzy kind.” I nudge his side playfully and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling my closer.

“Obviously they’re the fizzy kind. What do you take me for, Princess?” He clutches his chest in mock outrage.

I giggle, the sound so foreign I almost don’t recognise it.

“Now… don’t think I haven’t noticed you haven’t answer yet.”

I burrow my face into his side then twist my neck to peer up at him. “I’m obsessed with crisps.”

“Crisps?”

“Yep. I once ate two tubes of pringles within ten minutes.”

He pulls back to look at me. “Ten minutes? That’s impressive.”

My smile is smug. “Thank you.”

Nate gets up to buy us some food, then comes back a few minutes later with ham and cheese toasties and a new hot chocolate for me.

We settle back into a comfortable rhythm, finding out new things about each other. We don’t discuss murder, or my list, and it feels oddly nice. Just to exist together. Like we’re a normal couple.

Couple?

Is that what we are?

He did say I was his.

Strangely, the idea doesn't scare me. In fact, it feels quite good. It feels right.

By the time we’re ready to go the sky has just begun to darken, the afternoon giving way to the evening, and the air has cooled—the day somehow disappeared without me realising. I shiver slightly as we walk hand-in-hand through the city streets.

Nate shrugs off his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

I beam up at him.

He takes my hand again and starts pulling me in the direction of my house.

"How do you know where I live?" I ask, frowning at him.

He flashes me a wolfish grin, lifting an eyebrow as if to say,"Do you really have to ask?"

I sigh, my suspicions confirmed. "You're right. That was a stupid question."

We continue walking until we’re outside my house.

“You know,” I say, not yet ready to go inside, “you’re not what I was expecting from a serial killer.”

“What were you expecting?” His voice is low, and his gaze never wavers from my lips.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, the air suddenly feeling ten degrees hotter. “Less…normal?”

He barks out a laugh, the spell broken. “Normal? You think I’m normal?”