Page 108 of Forever To Me

Thirty seconds later, the door clicks open.

“Holy crap,” Cami mutters. “She’s good.”

"You're going to have to teach me that," Mack says in awe.

“Don’t encourage her,” I say, stepping inside.

We creep down the hallway to the kitchen. The overhead lights hum faintly, the air thick with the smell of cinnamon, butter, and stealth.

Mack freezes beside me. “Do you smell that?”

“Peach pie,” I whisper.

“Victory,” she corrects.

We find the pie on a stainless-steel prep table, golden and perfect, covered with foil, and labeled, “MAGGIE’S. TOUCH AND DIE.”

Cami reads the note. “She’s bluffing.”

Poppy raises a brow. “Maggie never bluffs about baked goods.”

"I can't believe she's trying to win the prize over me," Cami huffs.

“We’ve come this far.” Mack’s voice is steely with determination. “We take the risk.”

“This child is terrifying,” Cami whispers. "She's going places. Maybe not Harvard. But places."

"Prison if we get caught! Hurry!" I say as we giggle collectively. We carefully lift the foil and inhale pure dessert heaven.

“Okay,” I say, pulling out the plastic forks Poppy brought. “One piece each. We take it so we leave no evidence.”

Poppy holds up her phone. “Wait, selfie first.”

So, there we are: four idiots, crammed together in the dim kitchen, taking a triumphant selfie over a stolen pie in our black stealth ninja clothing. We each take a bite and another selfie.

It’s pure magic. Buttery crust. Sweet peaches. A hint of cinnamon.

“Whoever made this is a genius,” Cami moans, eyes closed. “My pie didn't stand a chance.”

"Not true, your baked goods are so good," Poppy says.

“If she finds out we did this, we’re dead,” I say, licking peach filling off my thumb.

Mack takes a second bite. “Worth it.”

We’re halfway to the door when it happens. The motion-sensor alarm we somehow missed when we came in the other door goes off. The alarm shrieks like a banshee. Lights flash. The oven timer starts beeping for no reason.

“Run!” Poppy yells.

Mack grabs the pie.

“Leave the pie!” I shout.

“Never!” she yells, sprinting for the exit.

We bolt through the kitchen, slipping on the tile like cartoon characters. Poppy knocks over a stack of mixing bowls. Cami crashes into a mop bucket. We burst through the side door just as Sheriff Matthews’s patrol truckrounds the corner. His headlights catch us mid-sprint.

Poppy throws herself into a bush. Cami dives behind a trash can. Mack still holds the pie, frozen in place like a criminal caught mid-heist. Naturally, I trip over my feet and face-plant in the grass.

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