Page 20 of Building What's Meant to Be

“Yeah, must be.” Her cheeks turn a faint pink.

My nerves spike but not only because I risk blowing my cover. No, this woman jolts something inside me, sends a rumble running through me, a bolt of lightning aimed straight at my heart.

I school my expression and reach my fingers through the bars to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tinsley.”

Her palm is a little sticky from the doughnut but fits nicely in mine. My gaze travels from her thin wrist up her arm to the curve of her shoulder before my eyes rest on her collarbones. The rumble inside grows as if it knows something I don’t.

The future Mrs. Mayor? Not sure where that came from other than my cheat sheet taken from James Bond’s smooth-talking playbook. Yeah, not getting married. Hasn’t happened. Won’t happen.

However, she and I shake hands for longer than is customary. I can’t be sure if it’s because this is the first time my future wife and I touch or if she doesn’t want to let go because her situation is the kind that requires handholding. Assurance that it’ll be okay.

The rumble rolls through me again, and instead of a lightning strike, I have a jolt of knowing that comes from nature or is of supernatural origin—I’m a believer and don’t question God’s plans. The message is a bolt from the blue but is as clear as they come.

Someday, I really am going to marry this woman. I take a deep breath, count backward from ten, and could really go forcute cat pics right about now because the notion of settling down excites and terrifies me in equal measure.

Especially with a potential accessory to a crime I’m investigating.

Chapter Five

TINSLEY

It’s hard not to get lost in Aiden Fuller’s eyes. They’re sparkly blue and full of mystery—have I mentioned that I love sparkly things? All of that sounds cliché, straight out of theA Golden Deception in Texasscript. But this would be the moment in the movie when we slide closer together, gazes locked, and with expressions of longing burning between us. The music would crescendo...

Then I remind myself that I’m on a man-cation.

And that steel bars separate us. My first reaction to being locked up was sheer panic. That gave way to a surreal sense of unreality. Is this actually my life?

Less than forty-eight hours ago—I think because hours and days are blurring and bending—I was living the life of luxury having returned from a night out at “Qube,” a new club, and crashed at what I thought was Puma’s Malibu mansion. I had plans to meet Sienna for a spa treatment the next day. We were going to hang out in the infinity pool at her boyfriend’s house after brunch at the famous restaurant at the end of the pier.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I walked right off the end of the thing and into someone else’s life.

Like cut scenes from a movie, I try to piece together the interrogation by the FBI, my flight to New York, my brother basically ejecting me from the family, and then driving without a clear destination other than the bottom-most part of the country. Sure, I’d planned to go to Miami, but now I’m in jail.

I’m in jail!

When John finds out he’s going to have a field day. Wait, did my parents report the car stolen? Are they the reason I’m here?

“Officer Henley, sir? Do I get to make a phone call?”

“Of course,” he says simply.

“Oh, really like from the movies?”

“Often it’s portrayed as you only get to make one call, and while that might be true in some jurisdictions, you can make as many calls as you like as long as the person on the other end is willing to pay for it. In other words, you have to call collect.”

My breath runs roughly from my lungs. “Okay. Thanks.”

The truth is, I’m not sure any of the Humbers would accept a collect call. Can cell phones? Because I don’t think anyone I know has a landline never mind the fact that I don’t have their numbers memorized.

Side note: I didn’t realize those were still a thing, relics from old movies. Seeing as my friends, except Sienna who didn’t seem all that concerned, haven’t so much as checked on my welfare, I’m not sure who to call.

The Ghostbusters? I amuse myself because I also tried out for the part of a ghostbusting trainer in the latest in the movie franchise: “Ghostbusters: Spooky School.” I didn’t get the part, nor do I think it ever made it to theaters.

“Did you want to make a call?” the police officer follows up.

I have to give the guy credit, he’s been nothing but kind and understanding. He’s merely doing his job. The fact that he holds to the letter of the law in my case means he probably also keepsactual criminals off the streets—ones that seem relatively few in this town.

“Maybe later. Thank you.”

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