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 ! 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!