Page 10 of Presley's Christmas Catch
I settle back in my chair to observe her. “So, tell me all about her.”
Presley leans back against the pillows on her bed, setting her box to the side and then adjusting to a comfortable position. “She left my mom a notebook full of stupid advice, like ‘When in doubt, do the Hustle. Trust me on this.’”
“The Hustle?” I question, biting back a laugh.
She presses a hand to her forehead. “They weresooobad at it, Brock.”
“They were together a lot?”
“Inseparable.”
“Well, I’m hoping you wrote down more of this great advice, because I could sure use advice in my life of any variety.”
“I wrote all of it down in my notes app.”
“Lay it on me.”
CHAPTER 5
PRESLEY
Presley:I finally opened my box the other day. Didn’t get all the way through it. But you’re still proud of me, right?
Thomas:You know there’s no judgement here. There’s an envelope in mine I haven’t opened. A letter, I can tell, but I’m terrified of it.
Presley:I don’t blame you.
I stare down at my phone as I sit in my car in the driveway at my parents’ house. I texted Thomas this morning, but it’s not surprising that it took him time to answer. His job keeps him busy. It wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary if it had taken him several days. Sometimes I wonder if we’ll all stop texting each other eventually, if there will be a time when Thomas doesn’t feel like our family anymore. That’s hard to picture.
My mom sits at the kitchen table with her laptop when I walk into her house. She turns to welcome me. “Hello, sweetie.” She reaches out to grab my hand, and I squeeze it as I take a seat next to her.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Nothing. Wasting time. Mindlessly scrolling.” She shrugs and pushes at her laptop, which is sitting in front of her. I catch aglimpse of a Facebook post with a close-up of an emerald ring with ruby stones flanking it almost like flower petals. The headline reads, “Is there a Christmas Miracle for a long-lost ring?”
“What’s that about?” I gesture to the post she was looking at.
“Oh, you remember the ring that was stolen last year at the Westcott’s big Christmas party?”
I furrow my brows at her. I remember the Christmas party. I go with my parents every year. The Westcotts have lived in the same neighborhood as my parents for as long as I can remember. Their daughter, Vivi, and I went to elementary school together, and Mrs. Westcott takes that to mean that my attendance is required with my parents, even though Vivi and I weren’t close.
“A stolen ring?” I feel like I’d remember that.
Mom makes a face at me. “Presley. It’s all Alexandra Westcott has talked about since it happened. You follow Vivi on Instagram, don’t you?” she says.
“Yeah.” But I can’t remember the last time one of Vivi’s posts came across my feed.
Mom waves her hand. “We were all there, Presley. They stopped the whole thing when they discovered it was gone, and refused to let anyone leave the house until they were searched. Thomas kept joking about having to explain to his bosses that he was under suspicion of burglary.”
It hits me with a flash of Aunt Shannon’s laughing face. The way she gave Thomas the side-eye but then grinned up at him.No one thinks the FBI agent stole something at an overdone Christmas party, she’d said to him. He’d winked and leaned closer to her.But what if I did?
You guys, I’d said, pretending to be annoyed by their affection.Please.
Shan is on a bad boy kick, Thomas had said with a smirk.Just trying to please her.
I’d pretended to gag.
Aunt Shannon died two days later. Our world spun upside down, and opening up my purse to be searched before I leftWestcotts’ that night wasn’t important anymore. I forgot all about the stolen ring.
