Page 17 of Building What's Meant to Be

She seems to go still even though she can’t go very far. “Really?”

“Truly,” I say out loud this time.

She looks down at her hands and twists them. “I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.”

“I find that hard to believe. But I’m pleased to be the first.” I try to replace what I reckon is a shy, boyish grin in her presence with a manly smolder.

Then like a switch flips in her mind, she cocks a hip and plants her hand there. “Wait a minute. Did you really steal a cat? I don’t know if I can trust the judgment of someone who steals a cat.”

“I didn’t steal a cat. It was a misunderstanding.”

“Fuller, where is Twinky?” Officer Henley calls presumably having overheard the conversation.

She’s safe, but I don’t say that. “You should probably ask Gatlin Stoll where the cat is.”

“I think he’s out of town. Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

That’s news to me. I file away that bit of info to look into later. “Perhaps you should keep better tabs on our good mayor.”

“I thought you were his assistant now.”

I clear my throat into my fist. “Right. Well, I assume he took a personal day. I was wrapping up some business of my own out of town,” I say, which is true.

Henley looks up at me over the cheater glasses perched on his nose. “Is that so? I’ll need an alibi.”

Oh, brother. We’re going to have to talk later and bytalkI mean show him my badge—which, no slight to our local boys in blue, or in this case, he wears a tan uniform—holds a little more clout. But I can’t say any of this at present, as I originally planned, because now one of the people involved in the case I’m on stands in the cell next to mine.

I return to her, forcing myself not to be captivated by her eyes, her cute little button nose, or her lips, or her anything. But it’s hard not to as the rumble gets louder in my ears. It erases all rational thought, restraint, and the aloof cat-like persona I’ve created...unless I want affection.

Moving closer to her is a mistake because the next thing that comes out of my mouth cannot be helped. At least that’ll be my thought in hindsight. “Someday, we’ll tell our kids that we met in jail.”

The rumble booms inside followed by a loud cracking as if the walls I’ve built come down, but only wide enough to let Tinsley through. It’s as if instead of being struck by lightning, I was struck by Cupid’s bow.

She inhales sharply as if scandalized yet charmed. I guess maybe I do have a voice like a honeydew melon fresh off the vine. “A meet-cute in jail? No, that will not be going in my memoir.”

“Are you writing one?”

“Not yet. Someday.”

“What will you call it?” If she says,Confessions of a Celebrity and Criminal, I’ll make sure she stays behind bars. Then again, I wasn’t kidding. Her beauty should be considered a capital crime.

She taps her chin. “Tales of a Shining Star.”

“Nice, but don’t be so sure that this isn’t our meet-cute. I have a feeling you’ll feature me in a chapter or two,” I say, being my usual charming, flirty self. At least, when it comes to women.

My reputation is not entirely undeserved. But I had to build a moat between myself and real relationships because I’m sometimes so deep undercover that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s for show. For instance, when was the last time I flirted for real?

My chest twinges.Talking to Tinsley feels pretty real.

The way my skin warms when she looks at me feels real too.

Or perhaps this isn’t our meet-cute because technically we already met—by several degrees of separation at the house in Malibu and over the phone. Now bars separate us.

Can’t be a good sign.

“How about when we get out of here, we go on a date?” So I can ask some questions. It won’t be an inquisition or even an interrogation. More like a conversation about what she can tell me about Harold Jerrold Pumanowksi.

She plays with a loose hair by her neck. “I, uh, don’t think that’s a good idea.”

---