Page 78 of Stolen Dreams
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “Brianna messaged around that time. Said she wanted to see Tucker. That she needed my help.”
My eyes widen, every protective bone in my body on high alert as I squeeze his hand. “Did she see him?”
“No.” He scoffs. “She used him as an excuse, came to town, went into the diner, pestered my dad, then showed up at my work and asked for money.”
An audible gasp leaves my lips. “Seriously?”
“So many times, I wish we’d never gotten involved. But then I remind myself I wouldn’t have Tucker. He’s the only good thing to come of her.”
Couldn’t agree more. “Does Tucker know she was in town?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “She put him through enough hell. I won’t let her do it again.”
My heart hurts for an entirely different reason. I also understand why Ray didn’t reach out sooner. Were I in his shoes, I wouldn’t be able to think clearly either.
Hours pass in minutes as we inch closer on the couch and talk through the night. We share pieces of our past, our hearts, and what we want for our future. More than that, we open ourselves up and put our exposed hearts on the line.
As sunlight peeks through the windows, Ray promises to never hurt me again. And I believe him. He asks me for another date tomorrow—well, today—and I say yes. We agree to meet up at the festival after some sleep.
And when he wishes me sweet dreams, it feels as though things are back where they should be.
TWENTY-TWO
ERASER
Parkingat the far end of town near the hardware store, I slip on a baseball cap and sunglasses and prepare to spend the day familiarizing myself with the area. Sun peeking over the mountains in the distance, I amble down the sidewalk with no specific destination in mind.
Early risers pull into the parking lot of a diner, several of the tables already full. Across the street, a line spills out the door and down the sidewalk of a coffee shop. Soft chatter mixes with the scent of bacon as I pass the open door of the diner. A hint of excitement in the air.
Before making the drive, I researched the town and some of its residents. I was promised my efforts would be fruitful. That every mile my tires ate up and dollar I spent on gas would be worth it.
By the look of things, those promises are spot on.
The farther I walk, the more this town reeks of money. I gathered as much during my online perusal but seeing it in person is quite the experience.
Quaint families decked out in pristine attire, not a single hair out of place. Not an ounce of worry on any of their faces. So innocent. So naive. So fucking stupid and careless. It will be myabsolute pleasure to corrupt every one of them. All it takes is one person. An in with the most gullible of them and they fall like dominos.
I take it all in—the perfectly manicured grass, the neatly pruned plants, the colorful and welcoming storefronts, the happy-go-lucky residents. Even the town bar looks… refined, polished.
“Fucking weird,” I mutter as I weave between the growing crowd.
But this is the perfect place to collect what belongs to me.
Streaks of yellow paint the powder-blue sky as I cross the street and head for the most talked about breakfast spot in town. People mosey about, smiles on their faces as they wave. Not wanting to stick out, I return the gesture. Act like every other tourist.
I round the corner and follow the street south for close to a mile. Cars line the street and spill out of the lot well before the restaurant’s sign comes into view.
Good thing I have time.
The sweet scent of maple syrup mingles with the nutty aroma of coffee as I step inside, my stomach grumbling.
“Morning. Welcome to Poke the Yolk.” The older woman smiles, and I return it in kind. “Just you, sweetheart?”
I remove my hat and sunglasses. “Yes, ma’am.”
She waves me off. “None of that ma’am business.” She surveys the dining room. “I have a seat open at the counter if that works for you.”