Stolen in Love

by G. G. Andrew

  The problem was, the only place that served the coffee she wanted might not want to serve her.

  Kim walked into Hot Haven at the tail end of the morning rush. Admittedly, she’d dawdled in her car for as long as she could. How would Boyd respond to her apology?

  When she went inside, the manager was at the front counter, like she’d hoped. As she inhaled that familiar scent of toasted bagels and good, strong coffee, she also spotted a young redheaded guy she didn’t recognize, which made her stomach sink. Had she already been replaced?

  Boyd was helping a mother with two young kids. As Kim stood awkwardly waiting for him, she could tell the holdup was because the family kept continually changing their order. First it was sticky buns, then bagels, then bagels and sticky buns, and could he make them hot chocolate too? Though Boyd kept a tight, pleasant smile on his face, Kim was sure he was inwardly raging.

  She moved to sit by the door to wait for him, and spotted Savannah already at a table there, working on her laptop.

  “Hi, Kim,” she said brightly, which made her uneasy. Was she being nice because she knew her boyfriend had unofficially fired her?

  “Hey, Savannah,” she said, tentatively. Up until last week, Hot Haven was one of the few places she felt comfortable, but she was on uneven ground now.

  Savannah closed her laptop and gestured at Kim. “Come sit with me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.”

  Savannah leaned over to put her laptop in her bag, an oversized handbag covered in zebra stripes that looked designer. She had on a bubblegum pink top with one of those big bows in front, the kind of shirt that only looked good on women in magazines or women who looked like they should be in magazines. As Kim sat across from her, she wondered why she didn’t hate her because of this, but when the pretty brunette gave her a sweet, lip-glossed smile, Kim knew why. Savannah was genuinely nice.

  “So, how’s it going?” Savannah asked casually, but Kim could tell by her eyes she knew what was going on.

  “Oh, you know…” Kim’s eyes drifted to Boyd, who patiently removed whipped cream from the hot chocolate of one of the kids, who’d decided she didn’t want it after all. “Just here to grovel and get my job back from your boyfriend after he saw me dip my hand into the new tea collection.”

  Savannah bit her lip. “I heard,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Kim laughed nervously and met her eyes. “Why are you sorry? It’s my fault.”

  Savannah glanced at her boyfriend. “Boyd told me about your problem.”

  “I figured.”

  “That must be really hard.” Savannah took a deep breath, keeping her voice low. “For what it’s worth, I told him he should give you another chance.”

  Kim blinked, feeling moisture prick her eyes. “Thank you.” After all she’d been through, all she’d done, the kindness of acquaintances put her off guard. She ran a fingernail along the edge of the table. “So what do you think my chances are?”

  “Good, I think.” Savannah tucked her straight brown hair behind both ears as she studied her boyfriend at work. “Boyd’s one of the good ones, Kim. Trust me, I’ve been around a bad one or two.” She laughed lightly, but Kim heard something unspoken in her words.

  The mother at the counter was shuffling her kids towards the door, a drink and a bag of goodies for each of them. Savannah and Kim sat silently while the door opened and the chime rang out. Boyd was smiling, leaning against the counter, and waving goodbye at the trio, but a minute after the door shut, he called out cheerily, “Don’t come back!”

  Kim laughed in spite of her nerves. “One of the good ones, huh?” she said to Savannah, who smiled in return. Nerves rattling in her belly, she stood up and addressed her maybe-former boss. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Kim,” he smiled, though his smile seemed forced—though not, she noted with some relief, as strained as he’d been with his latest customers.

  “Can we talk?” she said.

  “Sure.” Boyd pushed off the counter and turned to the redhead who was rinsing cups at the sink. “Jack, I’ll be in back a few minutes. You feel okay holding down the fort up here?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Kim went behind the counter and joined Boyd in the back room, where he leaned against a stack of boxes of ice tea mix, a few feet away from where she’d made her big mistake.

  She leaned against the shelves across from him. “So is that my replacement?”

  Boyd’s eyebrows knitted. “Who, Jack? Naw.” He waved his hand. “I actually need some extra help, even at the slower times. Apparently we got some mention in a local magazine, so we’re getting all these yuppies flocking in.”

  “Do people say ‘yuppies’ anymore?”

  “I do.”

  “Fair enough.” Kim stuck her hands in the pockets of her capris, her palms clammy. “Are you sure he’s not my replacement? He looks like he could do a better job than me. He’s young and also looks distinctly un-thief-like.”

  “Huh, yeah. He’s young all right.” Ignoring the thief part, Boyd rocked on his feet. “Guess what year he was born?”

  “When?”

  “1999. How fucked up is that? You know what I was doing in 1999?”

  “Middle school.”

  “Yeah. But also pot. A lot of it, too.”

  Kim shook her head. “Huh. I never figured you for a pothead.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t always a neurotic workaholic.”

  She laughed. “Maybe you should think about getting back on, for medicinal purposes. Get yourself a weed card.”

  “Maybe.” Boyd squinted at her. “That ex of yours still dealing?”

  Kim smirked. “Do you still think chocolate croissants are an act of Satan?”

  He laughed, but then they fell silent.

  Kim took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I fucked up, big time. I have this addiction, and it comes out in times of stress, but it’s no excuse. I take full responsibility for trying to steal that tea. I wouldn’t blame you for firing me, but I’m hoping you don’t. I like working at Hot Haven.”

  Boyd sighed and crossed his arms. “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry I yelled.” He tapped his foot. “I like you, Kim.”

  “I’ve been getting that a lot today.” She laughed, but the line also reminded her of a bad breakup. I like you, but I’m not in love with you. I like you; it’s not you, it’s me. Of course, she usually didn’t have relationships that lasted that long, but you heard stories.

  Boyd’s tone had been light, but it hardened a smidge. “I want to keep you on, I do. You’re a good worker and you make me laugh. But I can’t have an employee I have to keep a constant eye on because I’m afraid she’ll steal half the shipments.”

  “I won’t.” She looked him right in the eye, making the promise as much to herself as him. “Boyd, I won’t.”

  He uncrossed his arms. “I know how addiction works. I’ve been around people with monkeys on their backs. I don’t know that you can promise that.”

  Her body tensed. He wasn’t going to keep her on. “I am going to try, Boyd. Try my damnedest. I’ve lost a few jobs to this, and more than a few friends, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being like this.”

  His eyes met hers. “That sucks, but it’s not my problem.” She flinched, and he added quickly, “I mean, it sucks for you, but I can’t have it suck for me—not here. Look,” he exhaled, looking away, “I don’t think you can say you’re not ever going to steal. Just promise me one thing, okay?”

  Her voice came out hoarse. “Anything.”

  “Promise me if you’re ever tempted to steal again, you’ll just turn around and walk out that door. No questions asked. I’d rather you not work here than be here and steal. Do you think you can do that?”

  She swallowed, knowing full well that with everything having a tendency to go sideways in her life lately, she could be tempted again, but that what Boyd was suggesting was more than fair. “I can do that.”

  “G
ood.”

  “Thank you, Boyd,” she said, willing herself not to cry. God, she was really turning into a sentimental freak lately.

  “No problem.” He folded his arms again and leaned back against the boxes, his posture more relaxed. “To be honest, I’m glad I don’t have to fire you. I’d much rather fire Viktor. That guy creeps me out.”

  “Right?” Kim laughed. “I think he’s in the mob or something.”

  Boyd nodded, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, he’s got hired killer written all over him. Plus, he can’t make a smoothie to save his mother’s life. At least, that’s what I’ll tell him when I fire him later today.” He gestured palm up. “That whole you-look-like-a-killer thing doesn’t sound very professional.”

  “Totally.” They both laughed, and Kim felt the kind of euphoria you get after facing something dreaded and not losing an eye or job. Near-death euphoria.

  “So can you work the afternoon shift today?” Boyd asked. He hooked his thumb and gestured to the front. “You’ll be working with that ginger embryo out there. You can show him the ropes.”

  “I’d be glad to help mold today’s impressionable youth in the art of barista-ing.” She grinned. Her shit was being handled. She had her job back, that stupid flash drive away from her, the protection of the paparazzi at her sister’s, and some seriously amazing sex.

  It wasn’t exactly normal, but it was a good place to be.

  ~

  After her shift ended at Hot Haven, she headed to see Dr. Park for her Monday appointment.

  Once again, she was alone in the waiting room.

  The door to his office was open, and he looked up as she passed the doorway. “Kim, come on in.”

  “Slow day?” she asked.

  “Something like that.” He smiled serenely. “You’re my last client.” Though he seemed calm as usual, the psychologist’s skin looked sallow and he had bags underneath his brown eyes.

  She dropped to the chair. “Well, I’ll go easy on you.”

  He nodded, the smile still on his face. “Are you feeling better?”

  “What?”

  “Last week, you said in your voicemail you were ill.”

  “Oh, yeah, I wasn’t feeling—right.” She hadn’t called to admit to him that she’d stolen, or gone to the party to meet Hutch, or what had happened with Scott. He’d given her his cell number for emergencies as well as last-minute cancellations, but she hadn’t seriously considered using it. He was a good sounding board and had made her aware of some of her habits, but for some reason she didn’t feel comfortable calling him out of the blue.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and rested a hand on his knee. “So tell me how you’ve been.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been…” Having a lot of sex. Going to parties I shouldn’t. Stealing tea. Having a lot of sex. “…busy,” she finished.

  “Oh?”

  “I just…” She exhaled. “I had a slip up at work.”

  His eyebrow raised.

  She squirmed in her seat, feeling a tangle of emotions as she recalled Boyd’s face after the attempted theft and what happened later. “I was stressed because of the—”

  “The break-in.”

  “—Yes, and worried, and, just, too many thoughts and I wanted to lose myself in something. To not think.”

  “To feel the rush.”

  “Yes.” She wiped her hands on her pants. “So I went to take this tin of tea, but my boss caught me.”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Park blinked slowly.

  “Yeah. Not good. He gave me a few days off, and I thought he was basically firing me. But I went there today and apologized, and we worked out a deal.”

  “Which was?”

  “I try not to steal, but if I get tempted, I need to leave.”

  The psychologist nodded. “So he acknowledges this is difficult for you, but he set some boundaries to protect his own interests. His business.”

  “I guess.” Dr. Park always had a way of converting boring, ordinary behavior into psychological terms. Opening yourself up. Setting boundaries. It was a neat trick.

  “How did that feel?” he asked.

  She sighed, considering. “Good, I think. Good that he gave me a chance. But…” She ran a hand through her hair. “…a little scary. Like he’s waiting for me to screw up.”

  “Or you are.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Because I usually do.”

  Dr. Park shifted in his seat. “This sounds like a positive step. In healthy relationships, people care about one another to allow for mistakes, while still protecting themselves. It sounds like that is what your boss did.”

  She nodded. Relieved that Dr. Park hadn’t been shocked or disappointed at her behavior, she decided to keep sharing. “There’s more.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m seeing someone. That officer I told you about.”

  Dr. Park uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. “Oh?”

  She played with the ends of her hair. “Yeah, it’s really new, and I’m not sure where it’s going.” To his bed. Definitely to his bed.

  She wasn’t sure if dating was the right word exactly; it was more like they were fucking through their feelings. “He’s just, he’s really different. We’re really different.” God, she sounded like a fourteen-year-old girl, complete with the not-making-any-sense. But she couldn’t begin to describe to her psychologist, let alone anyone else, how undone yet warm and protected she felt in Scott’s arms, like she was suspended in a float tank.

  “He’s an active police officer?” Dr. Park asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And knows about your past?”

  “Yes. Not that he’s crazy about it.” She laughed, but she sounded like a teenager again so she clammed up.

  Dr. Park was silent. He began drumming his index finger on his desk. “Are you sure this is wise?”

  “What?”

  “Getting involved with a law enforcement agent. It seems like you’ve been wanting something more stable in your life, and maybe a man to go with it, which are all good signs. As is your attraction to a man who—”

  “Has his shit together?” Kim offered. “Doesn’t want to have matching his and her criminal records with me?”

  Dr. Park nodded his head. “But to me this particular attraction, to a man of the law, could exacerbate some of the stress you’re already experiencing. Have you thought about how you would fit into his life, his social circle amidst other officers?”

  “Well, not really.”

  “Or the conflict of interest his occupation and your background could present?”

  Kim bit her lip, unwilling to admit that that particular conflict of interest had already come up.

  In all her sessions with Dr. Park, she’d never seen him this assertive. Usually he merely asked questions, listened, and made astute observations. Rarely did he offer advice.

  Which is exactly what it seemed like he was doing. He thought she and Scott were bad news.

  She felt defensive all of a sudden about what they had, whatever it was, and so even though her voice wavered, she said, “I know it’s weird for me to date a cop. Trust me, I get it. But I think people can overcome obstacles. Doesn’t every couple have problems? I mean, you’re married, right?”

  Dr. Park looked down a moment. “I’m recently divorced.”

  “Oh.”

  The psychologist cleared his throat, and, as if realizing he’d overstepped his usual manner, he intertwined his fingers and gentled his voice. “Well, it sounds like this is all fairly new. Let’s continue to talk about this in future sessions.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Scott

  Wednesday afternoon before Scott’s shift, Bette was puttering around his kitchen, insisting on making Lily’s lunches for the rest of the week.

  “You don’t have to do that, Bette,” Scott said. The older woman was limping some, but she
was also agitated, which he guessed was guilt. With her knee, she hadn’t been able to help out with her granddaughter as much, and now she was taking it out on his kitchen cupboards.

  “Where are those tiny carrots you usually have?” she said, lining up a parade of sandwich baggies.

  “I ate them all.”

  Bette looked at him like he’d committed a deadly sin. “What’s Lily supposed to eat as a vegetable for lunch?”

  He shrugged. “There might be some broccoli in there.”

  “I saw it. It’s too old.” Mumbling to herself, she opened the fridge and leaned to take a bag of apples out. She winced as she straightened.

  “Let me do that,” he said, taking her free arm.

  She waved him off. “I’m not feeble.”

  “You mind telling me what’s wrong, then?”

  “Lily needs lunches for the week.” She grabbed a box of crackers from the counter and started portioning them into the baggies. But then, with a hard exhale, she set down the box and looked at him. “That girl that you’ve had help out with Lily?”

  “Yeah,” Scott said slowly. “Her name is Kim.”

  “I’ve heard from the neighbors that she steals things. Also that she’s been over here late two nights this week.” Bette busied herself with the lunches again, spooning out some applesauce into a small container.

  Scott exhaled. Nosy New Englanders. He thought he’d left that behind in the Midwest, that people up here stayed to themselves because of the cold and who knows what. But it hadn’t exactly been true in their neighborhood.

  “She’s had some trouble in the past, but she’s trying to move beyond it,” he explained.

  “Never known you to bring a woman home.” Bette grabbed a handful of spoons from the silverware drawer, and turned to rifle through the shelf.

  That was true, but only in part. He’d dated a handful of women since Alexa left, and even had sex with a few—he was responsible, not a saint—but he’d usually gone back to their place for an extended outing, and he’d never stayed the night.