Page 51 of Stolen for Keeps
“No.” His voice was calm, resolute. “I can’t take a chance.”
I crossed my arms. “What, you’re gonna stay up all night and guard me?”
“If I must.”
This man was impossible. And yet…I enjoyed it.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, whatever. Goodnight.”
Inside, I kicked off my shoes and slid under the covers.
Oh, sheesh. My side might’ve been just bruised, but it felt like I’d done a thousand sit-ups. Tomorrow was going to be fun, squeezed into a tight satin dress, pretending I wasn’t one breath away from wincing.
I sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe I was already relying on Noah too much. Maybe I shouldn’t assume he’d step in if I needed him to.
But Ididtrust him that much.
A soft knock sounded against the wall behind me.
I giggled to myself, then knocked back twice.
Two knocks came in return.
I did it again. And he answered.
I smiled, settling deeper under the blankets. And somehow, despite everything, I fell asleep to the steady rhythm of him on the other side of the wall.
12
MAYA
Butterberry Oven looked more specialized than Mrs. Sutton’s harvest shop, less homespun and more boutique. The cakes leaned toward edible art, but the staples were all there too: muffins, cookies, and fresh-baked breads.
The sign read “CLOSED,” but just as Sheryn said, I stepped inside anyway. The bell over the door gave a polite chime as it swung open.
The scent hit me—vanilla, almond, and a trace of lemon glaze still floating in the warm air. It was the kind of smell that clung to good moments. Like my mother’s kitchen. Distant and faded, but still there if I squinted hard enough through the years. They were not as sharp as the hours I’d spent in front of the industrial ovens in Billings prison, but this…this felt closer to something I hadn’t let myself miss.
“Mrs. Appleby?” I called out. “I’m Maya. I’m here for the wedding cake.”
“In the back!” came a very harried shout. “And bring reinforcements if you’ve got ‘em!”
That…didn’t sound great.
Around the corner, I found a pair of toddlers in a mid-frosting war. One had a rosette piped onto his forehead. The other was digging both hands into a bowl of rainbow sprinkles.
And there, right in the middle of the chaos, stood the wedding cake. Sheryn’s wedding cake.
At least, it hadbeen.
The bottom tier was intact. Mostly. The top? A crime scene. Smears where piping used to be. Cream flicked across the table. A little finger-sized dent in what had once been a perfect fondant flower.
“Oh no,” I muttered.
Mrs. Appleby burst through the swinging kitchen door, a tray of lemon bars balanced in one hand and a look of barely restrained panic on her face. “Their mama got called into work, so she dropped the twins here like a tornado in a breadbox. I turned around forone second—one second, Maya!”
I set my purse down. “Which one did it?”
“Does it matter?” She sighed. “They’re a tag team of tiny chaos. And I’ve got two more orders due by noon.”
