Page 9 of Play Pretend

I blotted my forehead with the back of my hand as Kenny put the final crate on the ground for us. Gracie paid him his due, then he headed home. With her hands on her hips, she stared at the jars of honey.

“We’ll save a few jars for baking and sell the rest,” she said, winded. I nodded as I opened the notebook I’d brought with me.

“I’ll add it all to the inventory.” I sank down onto the hardwood floor beside the jars. She patted my shoulder as she passed, heading back to the kitchen to finish getting together the pastries we opened with every day.

As I worked, my mind was so preoccupied with numbers and labels that I forgot all about Gracie teasing me and the entire conversation with my mother. Everything still loomed at the hazy edges of my mind, but the repetition, the soothing act of doing inventory, was thankfully enough to help me not think about Ronan Caldwell.

Even if it was just for a little bit.

ronan

Willow Gray was the bane of my existence. Who did she think she was telling me to keep my trash off her side? She was the one who put her bins onmyside of the driveway to begin with. And I still couldn’t believe she thought my trash stunk. It washersthat was awful.

Maybe I’d check inside her bins when I got home, just to make sure she wasn’t disposing of bodies or something.

It wasthatbad.

Kind of.

I groaned, digging my fingers into my temples. What was wrong with me? I didn’t understand why I couldn’t juststopbeing an asshole to her—to everyone. Years ago, I thought I might’ve had a crush on her. It was stupid and childish, and once I realized she wasn’t interested in me in the slightest, I backed off. Way off.

When she’d first moved in, I wasn’t in a place to even think about women. After everything that had just happened in my life, they were the furthest thing from my mind. But she was sweet, and she seemed kind.

And then she started with the blaring music, and the dying plants, and the…everything else.

It was enough to make me push away whatever feelings might’ve been growing. We were nothing but bickering neighbors, forced to live in the same tiny duplex. It was a cruel twist of fate—a pretty girl living next door who wasn’t attracted to me the way I was her.

Life wasn’t fair, was it?

“Trin!” I hollered, my voice echoing off the painted cinderblock walls. As expected, there was no reply. Not even a smidge of acknowledgment.

I heaved out a sigh as I glanced back at the computer. I needed to push everything from my mind and focus on work. Thinking about my interaction with Willow wouldn’t change anything. She didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her…right?

No, I didn’t.

Shaking myself, I turned my attention to my computer screen and squinted, feeling my eyes strain as I read Toby’s report for the millionth time this morning.

Daisy Monroe, 33.

$450 cash, a half-burned candle, multiple family cookbooks, a broken digital camera, and a dreamcatcher were all taken from the residence. Monroe was unharmed, but shaken up.

No suspect at this time.

I locked my fingers behind my head as I leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking. There were other valuables in plain sight, but the perp didn’t bother taking them. Why?

A candle? Some cookbooks? A camera that didn’t even work? Why those things?

A few weeks ago, the Tanner family had their home broken into as well. The only things taken were a few coloring books, a dry erase board the family kept their schedule on, and a slowcooker—with a pot roast still cooking inside. If it was the same person, they didn’t seem to want anything worth a dime. They just wanted to cause discomfort, which might’ve been worse.

“Trinity!” I shouted again. I was about to just go get my own damn coffee.

I snatched the pen from the mug at my side and tapped it on the desk. A quicktap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Seven times. Not six. Not eight. Always seven.

I pulled my phone from my pocket with a sigh and brought up my family group chat.

ME:

Trinity, where are you?

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