Aria could feel Monroe’s curiosity closing in around her. It was killing him that she’d made it all the way through dinner without letting him in on her secret formula.

“What was the waiter’s name?” Aria asked, enjoying their slow-paced walk, winding their way back to the resort.

“Who, Chaz?” Monroe asked, his face showing confusion.

“Yeah.” She breathed out a laugh. “Chaz. What color were his eyes?”

“Uh, how should I know?” Monroe asked, tucking his hands into his pockets and looking away.

“Come on,” Aria insisted, bumping her elbow into his side. “What color were his eyes?”

“Green,” Monroe groaned. “Why?”

“His wife’s name?”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “Gigi. But is there a point to this? Are you planning on painting a picture of Chaz and Gigi?”

“You looked at him, and you listened to him,” Aria explained, though she could tell he wasn’t connecting the dots. “It was part of the test.”

“Looking someone in the eye, and learning their name is common courtesy,” Monroe challenged, unconvinced.

“No, there’s a distinct difference between common courtesy and human dignity. There’s a difference between looking at someone and actually seeing them.”

“That couldn’t possibly have been enough for you decide if I’m a good guy,” Monroe scoffed. “I mean, don’t let me talk you out of it.”

“What were the two cross streets between the resort and the restaurant?” Aria pressed, knowing the full picture would become clear to him if he stayed patient enough to hear it.

“Topin and Fisher,” Monroe answered matter of factly. “What would that possibly tell you? I’m observant and have a good sense of direction.”

“Did you see the flowers?” she asked, propping a hand up on her hip with an air of overconfidence.

“Actually I didn’t,” Monroe countered, as though he’d just scored a point. “I didn’t notice them at all.”

“I know you didn’t. You were looking on the other side of the road. You were looking at Miss Tilly.”

“You know her?” Monroe asked, forgetting to keep his guard up. “The homeless woman on the bench.”

“Yes,” Aria replied sadly. “There’s this street full of exotic vibrant flowers on one side and this sad disheveled homeless woman on the other side. The easiest thing for someone to do is to look away. To comment on the flowers and their beauty. But you didn’t. You looked right at Miss Tilly. You smiled, gave a nod.”

“What does that have to do with me remembering the name of the cross street?” Monroe asked, his heart thudding with unease at being analyzed so closely. He’d underestimated how thorough she’d been.

“You tucked your hands in your pocket. I watched you.”

“I left the resort so quickly I forgot to pull any cash out of the safe,” Monroe explained through a huffy breath. “I would have given her something.”

“And when you realized you didn’t have cash,” Aria said, her eyes wide with what looked like excitement, “you looked at the sign and took a mental note of the cross street.”

“I thought I might pass by here tomorrow and maybe have some cash in my pocket then.” Monroe fidgeted nervously as he admitted what should be an admirable idea.

Aria was bouncing and grinning victoriously. “There were plenty of the little instances where you showed you are compassionate and when you look at people, you really see them.”

“So from that you’ve deduced I’m a good guy?” His voice was layered with incredulity.

“It sounds like you want me to change my mind. That’s counterproductive to what your goal is,” she reminded him. “Why don’t you want me to think you’re a kind man?”

“Kindness is frequently confused with weakness,” Monroe explained. “And weakness means you accomplish nothing. I’m a man who likes to get things done. So I prefer not to parade around showing my softer side.”

“That’s dumb,” Aria mocked. “You have to have this bluster in order to be taken seriously?”

“If you’ve analyzed me enough,” Monroe said annoyed, “can we move on to the task at hand? I’m a good guy. Check that off the list. Now you said you’d tell me what I want to know.”

“I will,” she said, nervously wringing her hands. “I just don’t know how this will work. Buckley hates me. I have back to back shifts for the next few days. He won’t allow me to miss those.”

“There’s a part of your formula you forget to add in,” Monroe said, spinning so his chest was suddenly in her face. She had to stop abruptly so as not to ram into him. Her neck craned up, and she stared nervously at him. “I am all the things you say. But Buckley and anyone else who crosses me or people I care about will see a side of me you can’t imagine. One you wouldn’t want to try to figure out. I’m good to those who deserve it. I’m merciless to those who don’t.”