Someone needed to be shot, Hunter thought with a scowl, preferably the person who had done the painting that hung on the wall next to the café entrance. Questionable artistic talent didn’t come close to describing the mess of colors he was looking at. Was that supposed to be a cow or a dog?
Sighing, Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose. The painting was a monstrosity, much like his patience after waiting thirty minutes. Mackenzie should have walked into the café half an hour ago, but she hadn’t, and to say that Hunter was a little miffed about it would have been an understatement.
Ignoring the simple, plain black coffee he’d ordered while he waited, he reached for his phone and checked the messages again. There were still only two messages in their thread, both from last night.
Hunter
