I despaired of finding anyone until he pulled up to the sidewalk in his big, shiny truck and climbed out. Everything, from his snug-fitting designer jeans to his neatly trimmed hair, screamed money. A pair of mirrored shades covered his eyes, but he seemed distracted as he pulled his phone from his pocket to check it. Knowing that this was my moment, I slid from my hiding place and, putting my head down, walked stealthily toward him. I’d perfected the art of bumping into someone and making it look like an accident. He stumbled but righted himself quickly and grabbed me before I hit the deck, and I stared up at my own reflection in his aviators.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, as I stepped back reluctantly. He smelled amazing, and I missed the warmth of his arms as soon as I left them.
“No problem,” he replied with a smile. I wanted to ask him where he was from, what he was doing there, and what aftershave he wore to smell so damn good. I wanted to ask him a million things, but I didn’t. Offering him a brief smile, I walked away quickly. Stuffing my hands into the pocket of my coat, I palmed the buttery soft leather of the wallet I’d just lifted.
Eight hours later, and I finally had work. By pure luck, the owner of a coffee shop had lost her temper with a sulky, teenage employee and fired her for being late again. I walked in just in time to witness the showdown and immediately volunteered myself as a replacement. The place was packed with Christmas shoppers looking for a little respite away from the cold, and sensing an opportunity, I offered to work an hour free by way of an interview.
For sixty minutes, I was polite, smiled, and made sure that nothing was too much trouble for any customer. Fortunately for me, the sullen teen had set the bar pretty low, and by the time I left, I had a part-time job starting tomorrow. Sure it was only for the holidays, but I’d take what I could get. I was being paid weekly, so I hoped that whatever I’d stolen this morning could feed me for that long.
Shame had kept me from checking, but I knew I had to. Yesterday’s burger was the last thing I’d eaten, and I was starving. There was no way I’d be able to do a full day’s work tomorrow without a meal. Serving delicious-looking cakes and muffins on an empty stomach had just about killed me. I wasn’t too proud to eat leftovers, but I wasn’t about to risk my new job by stealing them. Mournfully, I’d tossed them into the trash before stacking plates in a dishwasher.
Daydreaming about a hot meal, I crossed the road distractedly as I headed to the diner and saw the headlights before I’d even registered the screech of the brakes. The truck didn’t hit me hard, but I weighed so little that I flew about six feet and landed with a jolt on the road. The driver jumped out of the cab and rushed to my side.
“Jesus, are you all right?” I shut my eyes as I savored his deep, sexy British accent.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I answered sarcastically.
“Wait a minute. That’s my wallet!” he said sharply, as he stared at the evidence spilled out on the road.
I was so busted.
“I found it lying on the sidewalk,” I said defensively. “I haven’t even opened it. I stuck it in my pocket because I was late for work, and I was just on my way to drop it off at the sheriff’s office.” With that, I clamped my lips together tightly. Any good thief knew how to lie well. The trick was to stick close to the truth. Give the mark enough to be believable, but don’t embellish. Unfortunately, reason went out the window with this guy. There was something about him that rattled me. His face was devoid of the kind of scorn and derision I expected to see after being caught in such a precarious situation.
“Well, thank you for rescuing it for me,” he replied with a smile I couldn’t help but return. It was hard not to feel guilty when he was being so nice, but I reminded myself that I hadn’t actually stolen from the wallet yet. I mourned the loss of a hot meal, but perhaps I’d run into this guy for a reason. The last thing I needed was to jeopardize my new employment by getting busted with a stolen wallet. He’d bought my story about finding it, so all I had to do was sweet-talk my out of the situation, and I was free and clear.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, my relief at his easy acceptance of my story palpable. Grabbing the wallet, I held it out for him to take. Ignoring my outstretched hand, he crouched down and lifted me effortlessly into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked. He threw me slightly into the air as he adjusted his grip, and instinctively I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from falling.
“I’m taking you to the hospital, what do you think I’m doing?” he replied, shifting my weight so that he could open the door.
“I can’t go to the hospital!” I protested.
“Did you miss the part where I hit you with my truck?” he asked humorlessly.
“Look, I don’t have any insurance, and even if I did, I don’t need medical attention. A hot shower and a good meal and I’ll be fine, I promise,” I assured him.
He smiled gently as he placed me on the seat and reached across me for my seat belt. There was something intimate and tender in the way that he strapped me in. He was taking care of me in a way I’d never been cared for. Maybe ever.
Closing my door, he jogged around to the driver’s side, and I used the moment to discreetly wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, cursing myself for being so pathetic. His truck smelled new, and the leather seats were extravagant and expensive. The cab felt huge until he climbed in and I realized how big he was. The thought distracted me from my protest.
“We’re going to the hospital now,” he explained calmly. “We’re going to wait in the emergency room until a real doctor gives you the all clear, and then I’m paying the bill and taking you for that dinner you missed out on. After that, I’ll drop you anywhere you want to go. Deal?”
I was tired, hungry, and the weight of guilt was killing me, but I nodded in agreement anyway.
Chapter Four
Jensen
Four hours later, I sat in a booth at the Wallflower diner across from the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. When she’d first bumped into me, she was so slight I’d mistaken her for a kid. Now, as I watched her devour her chicken plate special as though someone would take it away at any moment, I realized that she was just painfully thin. Malnourished even. It gutted me to think about the impact her tiny frame had taken from my truck, and I cursed myself again for not having paid more attention to the road.
Despite her constant protests that she was fine, the doctor had warned that she’d have some heavy bruising tomorrow and had prescribed some painkillers just in case. When he was done, she hobbled off the examination table, and I had to hold myself back from lifting her into my arms again. I knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, but damn she’d felt good. Like she belonged there. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place, it felt right. Like nothing else had in a long time.
“Hi guys, let me get these plates for you. Now can I get you both any dessert?” our waitress asked.
“Thanks, Diana, that would be great,” I answered, reading her name from the neatly printed tag on her uniform. My date looked mournfully at her empty plate, and I knew from the look on her face that she was still hungry.
“What would you like?” I asked her.
“Oh no, I’m fine,” she replied, a little too quickly. She said it so often that I wondered who she was trying to convince.
“In that case,” I said, grabbing the menu and scanning it quickly, “I’ll have a slice of warm chocolate fudge cake, a slice of apple pie and ice cream, and a stack of pancakes with syrup, please.” I replaced the menu and sat back, watching Lauren’s jaw drop like a goldfish.
“No problem,” Diana replied with a knowing smile. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” With a quick wink, she disappeared into the kitchen.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, closing her mouth, clearly too polite to question my obvious gluttony.
For the first time, we sat in awkward silence. Neither of us knowing what to say. I’d thought that a ho
t meal would put a smile on her face, but to my surprise, she looked as though she was going to cry.
“Hey, Lauren, we can go and find somewhere to get your prescription if the pain is starting to kick in,” I offered, feeling terrible at the idea of her sitting here in silence if she was hurting.
“How do you know my name?” she asked with a small sniff as she blinked away the tears.
“Lauren Matthews … hospital admissions form,” I reminded her, knowing she’d noted my name as well. She nodded before looking back down at her folded hands. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked me in the eyes.
“I did steal it. Your wallet, I mean. I know I told you I didn’t, but I did. I’m so, so sorry, and I promise I’ll never do anything like it again. It was honestly supposed to be my last one. But I took it,” she said, blurting out her confession so fast that it took me a moment or two to decipher what she was saying. When she was done, her gaze returned to her hands as she twisted her fingers anxiously.
“I know,” I said finally, making her head snap to attention. “I didn’t feel you lift it, but when I realized it was gone, I knew exactly what had happened.”
“Then why are we sitting here and not the sheriff’s office?” she asked quietly.
“Because something tells me you need a break. I know by the smooth way you picked my pocket that you’ve done this a lot. But you’re not a career criminal, or at least you don’t want to be. Only someone who’s really and truly starving hoovers up a meal like you just did. So, my guess is that you stole it out of desperation. I got it back safe and sound, so no harm, no foul,” I said.
Rather than the look of gratitude I was expecting, she stared at me like I was an escaped mental patient.
“I feel like this is some kind of trick. Like any minute now Sherriff Haywood is going to jump out and surprise me with a pair of handcuffs,” she said.
“Sounds like you know the local law pretty well,” I replied, my suspicions about her lifting wallets regularly confirmed.
“It’s a small town. We’ve only been here a couple of weeks, but Dad’s already had one or two drunken run-ins with the sheriff. Makes it kind of hard to get ahead when your family name is as renowned as mine.”
“But you said you’d just come from work. So you have a job now?”
“I got a job today at the coffee shop on Fourth Street. It’s only for the holidays, but at least it’s something. I got an honest job and a free hot meal. Today’s been a good day,” she said with a reluctant smile.
“You forgot about the bit where you bounced off my truck,” I reminded her.
“Stop trying to rain on my parade,” she replied, smiling wider.
Chapter Five
Lauren
“So what are you doing in Friendship?” I asked. “It’s a long way from England. At least that’s where I’m guessing you’re from by the accent.” It was more Jason Statham than Benedict Cumberbatch, but still, he could melt chocolate with that hot, deep voice.
“I’m not there much anymore, but I’m from East London. I’m here for the funeral of an old friend,” he replied. He looked so sad and remorseful that I found myself wanting to scoot over to his side of the booth and just hug him. To offer him back a small measure of the comfort and kindness he’d given me. But I stayed where I was, not knowing how he’d feel about receiving affection from someone who’d just stolen from him.
“He must have been a really good friend for you to have come all this way.”
“He was the best. A better friend to me than I was to him anyway.”
“What happened?” I asked, then immediately winced as I realized how nosy and insensitive I was being.
As though he could sense my discomfort, he waved away my concerns and continued.
“I don’t know if you follow motor racing, but I’m a Formula One driver. I didn’t grow up in the nicest of areas, but I knew from pretty young that the only place I wanted to be was behind the wheel. I loved everything about it. The thrill, the speed, the competition. All of it. But I had no money, no real skills, and little education, so I did what half the kids on the estate were doing and started stealing cars. I didn’t care what it was or who it belonged to, if it had four wheels, I took it,” he admitted.
Maybe I shouldn’t find it endearing that he was sharing his criminal past with me, but I did. Unless he was about to tell me that the flashy truck I’d been riding around in was stolen, he had clearly done well for himself, so maybe there was hope for me after all.
“Please tell me this story doesn’t end with you hitting someone with your car,” I said.
“Thankfully no. You were my first,” he replied.
“I’m honored,” I said sarcastically. Diana arrived at our table and proceeded to unload three dishes that would make anyone’s mouth water.
“Enjoy!” she said, and gave me another wink as she headed back to the kitchen. All of it looked delicious, and I was pretty sure that I’d fall into a sugar coma just from the smell.
“Don’t go hungry on my account. I’ll never eat this much food by myself,” he said, handing me a fork. Having eaten out of a Dumpster less than twenty-four hours ago, I couldn’t bring myself to turn him down, and accepting the fork, I wasted no time in plowing into the pancakes.
“So what did happen? Were you caught? Arrested?” I asked between mouthfuls, trying my best to retain some sense of dignity instead of shoveling in the food as fast as I could.
“In a manner of speaking. Some of my mates and I had saved up for tickets to the British Formula Renault Series. They were rubbish seats, but we didn’t care. After the race was over, most people left the stadium, but the boys and I stayed till the very end. The cars had all been taken off the track, but I couldn’t leave. I was a stupid kid, ramped up and full of adrenaline, so I hopped the barrier and found an unlocked safety car,” he explained.
“Didn’t you worry about getting caught?”
“I knew I’d get caught, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a little punk like me. I figured it was worth the risk. I put my foot to the floor and did one lap of the circuit before the other safety cars hit the track and barricaded me in. I don’t think I breathed for the entire lap, but what a lap it was,” he said wistfully.
“So what happened?” I asked, moving onto the chocolate fudge cake as he picked through the leftover pancakes. He ate a forkful before pausing to lick the maple syrup from his lips, and it struck me that there was something decidedly intimate about sharing a meal with a virtual stranger.
“One of the pit bosses tore me a new one, the police were called, and I was let off with a caution. Three days later, Ronnie came knocking at my door. Turns out he was in the stands chatting to an old friend, and he’d seen the lap. He offered me a spot then and there on a junior drivers program. The team would cover my accommodation expenses and airfare, but it meant leaving everything behind to join a boot camp for young drivers. Break the rules and you’re sent packing, miss classes or training even once and you’re sent packing. But toe the line and you not only get to drive some of the fastest cars in the world, you’re taught how,” he replied.
“So your mom and dad supported you?”
“My dad left us when I was a baby, so I don’t really know him, but Mum couldn’t get me out of the house fast enough. She saw an opportunity to get me out of trouble and off the estate, at least until I was old enough to start making good decisions.”
“Is she still there? Your mom, I mean,” I asked, smiling as he pushed the apple pie toward me.
“Nah. I used my Formula One signing bonus to buy her a lovely bungalow out in the countryside. My aunty moved in with her, and they’ve made a nice group of friends locally, so she’s happy there,” he replied.
“Are you happy?” I asked, not realizing until I said it what a personal question it was.
“Today I am,” he answered, helping himself to a huge forkful of pie. We finished off our desserts in comfortable silence, and by the end
, I was so full that I could barely move. Jensen paid the bill, and all too soon, we were back in his truck. I gave him directions and cringed as he pulled up to the motel.
“I know it’s bad to be living out of a motel, but someday I’ll have my own place,” I said defensively.
“It doesn’t matter where you live as long as it’s home,” he said.
“My home would be decorated with so many Christmas lights that you could see the house from a block away. The kitchen would smell like freshly baked gingerbread, and evergreen garlands would hang everywhere you looked,” I said wistfully.
“You should see my mum’s house at this time of year. By the time she’s finished decorating, the place looks like Santa’s grotto,” he replied.
“Will you still be here for Christmas?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.
“I’ll be leaving Christmas Eve,” he replied, and I tried not to show how sad that made me. The last few hours had been like nothing I’d ever known. To be able to talk freely without judgment was liberating, but to know that he was leaving in less than two weeks upset me. Dragging out my good-bye would do me no good though.
“I’m only in town for a couple of weeks. Do you think we could …?” Jensen asked, but I cut him off without giving him a chance to say what I knew he would.
“I’d love to. But I’m a bit of a kleptomaniac, you see. I’m good at keeping hold of nice things. Not so good at letting them go. And I have a feeling that having you around would be a very nice thing. If I get any more attached to you, there’s a real risk of me kidnapping you and keeping you forever in my closet to stop you from leaving. So for your own sake, I’m going to say good-bye now,” I told him.
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