by Rachel Shane
I let out a breath, wiping sweat from my brow. I don’t dare move. Not yet. Not until I’m absolutely sure he’s not going to turn around and come back for some forgotten object. Ten minutes passes, the sun blazing against the back of my neck. Fifteen.
My stomach clenches when the buzzer of my phone’s timer goes off. Twenty minutes. Time’s up. Time to do this.
Time to betray the guy I’m falling for.
Each step my feet take toward his house feels like I’m wading through wet concrete, leaving permanent footprints behind. Every press of my sole against his driveway is a decision, guilt pulsing through me. When I reach his back door, I have to brace my palm against the siding, gulping desperate breaths of salty ocean-scented air. I whimper and then slap my arm in an attempt to knock some sense into myself. I’ve never hesitated on a job before. Not once. And I won’t now.
I punch in the door code that’s been repeating in my brain ever since Thursday night. Even tipsy, my instincts were still honed to a sharp point, ready for opportunity. The door beeps and unlocks, granting me access. I disable Colby’s alarm code in the same manner, feeling like a super hero instead of a girl who followed a guy home and managed to stumble into this dumb luck.
Emptiness greets me inside, the rush of silence tuning up the volume on my beating heart. My eyes lock on the kitchen table, the place where I first stole his heart with my food and then his heart with my body. I shake my head, looking away, temples pounding. Focus. I place one foot in front of the other, wobbling just a little, enough to send me off course entirely. I grip the walls as my guide as if I’m navigating a maze and can’t find my way.
Upstairs, the dresser is a challenge. I face it head on, staring it down. A deep breath doesn’t offer me the kind of courage I need. I try counting: one, two, three, but my arms refuse to reach out and grip the handle.
This should be easy. Smash and grab. Get the brooch and get out of his life forever.
I nod to myself in encouragement. I can do this. It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
The drawer scrapes when I pull it and my teeth clench in response. Light blue boxers jiggle with the drawer movement, each one neatly folded into a perfect square. The last time I dug my fingers beneath the fabric, I was hasty, haphazard, and desperate. But this time I coax my fingers in gently. There’s a thought that flashes in my mind, as fast as lightning, there and then gone: maybe he changed hiding places. My chest stills at that thought.
But then my fingers bump against the velvety surface. I squeeze my eyes shut as a mixture of relief and something else, something like disappointment, seizes my shoulders. He trusts me enough to keep the brooch right where he knows I can find it. A pang curls in my gut, twisting with the sharp point of guilt. My fingers shake as they lift the box from the drawer and hold it up into a stream of illuminating sunlight.
The air is thick with solid humidity, blocking my airways. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. I nudge the box open even though I can feel the brooch sliding inside. The beauty of the sparkling diamonds and rubies still hits me with mega watt force, and I gasp, caught off guard once again by the brooch’s beauty.
Mine, I think. Finally mine.
I reach toward it with trembling fingers but as soon as they touch the jagged edges of the brooch, they go limp. My mind flashes to an image, of Colby holding out the box to a woman covered in a hospital blanket, a glorious smile brighter than the brooch itself, stemming from both of them. My pulse amps. I set the box back down on the dresser and stumble away from it, squeezing my palms against the sides of my temples.
It’s not mine. Not anymore.
I swallow hard and shut the box again, sealing the brooch inside. I slip it back into the underwear drawer and smooth my hands over the boxers. Once the drawer shuts, a semblance of balance restores into the room, as if every puzzle piece has finally clicked into place.
With a sigh, I head toward the door, not daring to look back. I came here for the one thing I’ve been coveting my whole life, but I’m stealing something else. Something I didn’t even know I wanted. Something that resembles a future.
My hands are empty when I reach the bottom floor, but they’ve never felt more full. I only wanted the brooch because of its sentimental value; it represented a battle with my mother that I fought for years to win. But it belongs to a different mother. Colby’s mom needs it more than me. For her, it embodies hope.
There’s a skip in my step when I turn the corner toward the kitchen, but I stop short at the entryway, gasping. A palm flies to my chest. There, standing in the center of the kitchen, is Galina.
“I—I can explain.” I stumble backward from her intense glare.
Her narrowed eyes seer into me, her arms crossed. “I knew you were trouble,” she says in Spanish.
My temples pound with the insistence of a rock concert, but there’s a thought that pulses through the fog: convince her you belong here. I put one hand on my hip and try to inject a casual attitude. “Not sure what you’re accusing me of,” I say in English just to piss her off. “But Colby gave me his alarm code. He knows I’m here.”
Galina raises a brow as a sick smile slides over her lips. She glances toward the entryway and clears her throat.
Colby saunters in, wearing a grave expression.
Shit.
“You’re half right.” He leans against the doorjamb, rigid and stiff. “I do know you’re here.” He forces me to follow his slow trek toward the very table we christened the other night before he sits down.
She shakes her head at me before ambling out of the kitchen. I lift my chin, my muscles trembling.
“I knew it,” Colby says. “I knew I recognized you.” He clenches his jaw and the very look of anger on his face sends my pulse into overdrive. “You’re the girl from the auction.”
My head darts at my options: the back door, which would require running past him. The front door, behind me, which would lead me right toward Galina. Either way, if I fled, they’d surely catch me. And the last option, one I’d never ever chosen before: the truth. I swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” I hold up both my palms, showing him they’re empty, but it looks as if I’m surrendering. “How—” My tongue is thick and heavy in my mouth. “How did you know I was here?”
A howl whines through the window pains as the wind propels the trees into swaying motion.
He juts his chin back toward the doorway. “Galina overheard your invitation to me yesterday. She didn’t trust you, so she swung by at the time you wanted me gone and watched you sneak in.”
God, I’m such an idiot. I waltzed inside like I owned the place but hadn’t checked to see if I’d been followed. She probably called him and he swiveled right around on the highway to catch me.
He shakes his head, hair dancing, his face stark white and terrified. “Tell me who you are.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He’d asked me the same question on day one but this is a do over, and this time I owe him the truth. My identity. My biggest secret. I haven’t taken anything from him. It’s time I give him something. “Liliana Gabriella Stratford. Twenty-four-years-old. From the most ghetto town in Florida—Homestead.” But that part’s nor relevant to anything, so I tell him the part that is. “My ancestry on my dad’s side dates back to post-renaissance England. My mom’s side, well, who knows? Somewhere in Mexico probably.”
I’m handing over all the dossier information I’ve worked for so long to protect. All my other con jobs were small time: a silver spoon worth nearly six hundred dollars. A wad of cash plucked from a hiding place inside a shoe. A necklace that turned out to only be worth ten bucks. This is the first time my crime could land me somewhere other than small claims court.
“The brooch,” I say because I feel like I own him an explanation. Emotion clogs my throat. “It’s a family heirloom. It should have been mine, but a technicality in my Grandmother’s Will meant my mother inherited it…and she promptly p
awned it off to an auction house.”
A muscle in Colby’s jaw feathers, but he doesn’t say anything. His white knuckles grip the kitchen table.
“When I didn’t have enough cash to win it fair and square, I—” I glance down at my toes. “I got your name. Saw the chef’s ad. I had it all planned out.”
“Jesus.” He curses under his breath.
“I couldn’t go through with it.” Tears stream down my cheeks, hot and fierce.
At that moment, three police officers barge into the back door with guns drawn. My hands instantly go up, no protest, but my gaze never leaves his. As they cuff me and whisk me toward the door, I ignore my Miranda rights to say one last thing to Colby. “Not when I was falling in love with you.”
CHAPTER NINE
I rot in a holding cell, rubbing my ink-stained fingers against my wrist while the officers mull and mingle beyond the steel bars that separate me from my future: a bigger jail, a smaller cell, a roommate instead of the empty space beside me whirring with the air conditioning vent. The bench gleams with pristine shine in the overhead lights, proving this particular holding cell doesn’t do much holding. Not in this ritzy area of Miami. Not like the police station back home, which sometimes has to turn away misdemeanor offenders because the capacity is busting at the seams.
The wooden bench beneath me carves hard lines into the backs of my thighs. My bladder bulges, but the silver toilet with no lid a few feet away makes me cross my thighs and wait for my bladder to burst. There’s no hope here of a release without charges. I know the hold up is just the officers biding their time until the transport to the larger prison arrives, where I’ll be stowed away nice and tidy and safe until they can sentence me for longer. Trespassing. Fraud. Grand theft. I won’t see the sunlight for years.
I shift on the bench. The only thing keeping me together is my sharp nails digging into my wrist, a reminder that I’m still alive, despite the way I feel dead inside. I lost everything. The brooch. My job. A future I didn’t even know I wanted until a few days ago.
Colby.
My throat hitches, a thick lump blocking my airways. I have nothing left.
After what seems like hours, an officer lopes toward me, making a grand attempt to avoid eye contact. I stay stock still, no energy left to get my hopes up. A Styrofoam cup of coffee steams in one hand while his keys clink and jiggle in his other. Hot liquid sloshes over the rim and he yelps as he attempts to unlock my cell without setting down his cup. He pauses to take a sip before twisting the keys fully. The door slides open and the tightness in my chest thickens.
The officer juts his chin toward me. This is it, I think. The end. I rise on wobbly legs, taking each step with apprehension. My path will only lead me straight into a transport van.
We weave through the hallways, me in front of him, leading the way even though I have no clue where I’m going. But I guess this way there’s no risk of me slamming him unconscious from the back. Officers nod toward him as we pass, ignoring me as if I’m just decoration, completely inconsequential.
“Right in there,” he says, the sound of his feet abruptly skidding to a stop.
I pause in front of a door marked INTERROGATION, the metal of the handle worn in places to appear shinier than in others. They’ve already questioned me, and the fact that they need to do it again makes me shudder. I told them the truth, but only about this con. There are others I haven’t blabbed about yet. Others I was never caught for. I thought they were small time enough to keep me out of harm’s way, but when you add them all up, they’ll probably tack on another ten to fifteen years onto my sentence.
“Go on in. I’ll be right out here if you need me.”
My hands tremble as I twist the knob. I suck in a deep, calming breath, squeezing my eyes shut, before I step inside. When I open them, I freeze. There, sitting at the far end of a bolted down metal table, is Colby. He wrings his hands in front of him, his hair looking disheveled and his face red and blotchy. His mouth parts when he sees me.
I stiffen but force myself to sit across from him, back ramrod straight. My eyes fly to the pair of handcuffs bolted to the table. I tuck my free wrists in my lap, hoping this is just an oversight. I don’t need to remind anyone here I should be restrained.
“In the interest of transparency”—He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers—”I asked the officers to let me talk to you. Before I decide…” He turns partially and inhales. “If I’m going to press charges.”
My chest constricts and I hold my breath in a desperate attempt to stay calm.
“Was any of it true?” He runs one hand over the short stubble of his jaw. “Do you even want to be a chef?”
“Yes.” The word flies from my lips with a fierceness that makes him drop his hand and pay attention. “Well, truthfully, no.” I cringe at my confession and the way it lands between us with a deafening thud.
Colby’s nostrils flare with a hot burst of expelled breath.
I shift in the seat. “I mean, not at first. At first, it was just a ruse. A way to get inside.”
My gaze locks on the mirrored wall, which likely hides a team of officers behind it, listening to every word of my confession. Cameras in the ceiling blink with a red light. I swallow hard.
“But when I started actually trying, reading the cookbooks, improving, I realized cooking is where I belong. This is all I want to do.”
His eyebrows rise and he coughs, then clears his throat, as if he’s tripping over his words before he even speaks. “There’s one thing I don’t get. When you said…that you were falling for me.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Why did you go through the effort to try to steal the brooch in the first place if you were already…feeling that?” He watches me intently, expectantly, and I shrink down in my seat.
“I was trying to ignore my feelings. I had my eye on the prize, so to speak. I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was going after the wrong one.” I reach for him, but then snap my hand back. “I know now that I could never do that to you. Or your mom.”
Emotion shifts over his face, scrunching his features, before he nods to himself, as if making a decision. He fumbles for something under the table and then sets down the velvet box with a sort of finality, like a maestro conducting his final song. My heart thumps at the sight of it.
“I’ve thought about this a lot the last few hours.” Colby hesitates a moment before pushing the box toward me with one finger. “It’s rightfully yours. You should take it.”
“But—” My voice cracks. “Your mom.”
Colby shakes his head. “My mom doesn’t even know this brooch exists yet. Tomorrow, my presence alone will be a huge lift for her.”
I reach for the box, my fingers gliding over the soft velvet. Every atom in my body wants to rush to hug it to my chest, where it belongs. But I shake my head and slide it back to Colby. “I want her to have it.”
He squints at me. “Are you—are you sure?”
I nod. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.” I bite my lip. “Well, except being a chef.”
He laughs, then abruptly stands up. He circles the table and my chest pumps cool air through my lungs. He bends down in front of me, pinning me with a gaze so intense, I lose track of my thoughts. “I know this is wrong,” he says. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way for the girl who stole from me.”
“Didn’t steal,” I correct.
He grins. “Which is why I’m dropping the charges.”
My eyes squeeze shut as sluggish relief washes through me.
“I do have some bad news though.” He bites his lip. “You’re fired.”
His words land like an ice pick in my gut, and I nod.
“But only because I want to send you to culinary school. And also, I have another position available for you instead.”
I lift my eyes to his, my heart thumping.
“My girlfriend.”
He leans forward and presses his lips against mine, soft
and testing at first, before our mouths part. I wrap my hands around his neck and my legs around his waist, pulling him closer closer closer. The kiss makes goose bumps pop along my arms and I know deep in my heart I made the right decision.
We’re still kissing when the officer swings open the door and clears his throat. We break apart, but only for a moment. Only until we can get back to Colby’s house and start something.
I waltzed into Colby’s life to steal from him, but he ended up stealing my heart instead.
Want to read more? There's a stand-alone companion novella available now called The Game Of Love! Colby appears in the novel as a character and the story features two people who fall in love while working on rival marketing campaigns for the app he developed. Read it now!
Other titles by Rachel Shane
Adult Contemporary Romance
The Game of Love A Contemporary Romance Novella
Cunning Linguist, A Campus Crushes Prequel Novella (Fallon's Story)
Premature Evacuation, Campus Crushes, Book 1 (Mackenzie's story)
Master Probation, Campus Crushes, Book 2 (Bianca's story)
A Bone to Pick, Campus Crushes, Book 3 (Erin's Story)
The Campus Crushes Complete Series: Boxed Set
Adult Paranormal Romance
Gravebound, Magical Entanglements vol 1
Cursebound, Magical Entanglements vol 2
Flamebound, Magical Entanglements vol 3
Young Adult
Sorry, Not Sorry
Rhythym & Clues
Kasey Screws Up The World
Alice in Wonderland High
Non-Fiction
Generating Story Ideas: Tips and Techniques For Hatching Ideas From Scratch
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Shane studied Creative Writing at Syracuse University and now works as a digital Project Manager in New York City. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, young daughter, and a basement full of books.