Page 47 of The Perfect Steal

Brynn bit the side of her lip like she might cry. A pit formed in my stomach. I didn’t want her to cry because of something I said.

“I wish I could say yes, but she hasn’t really talked to anyone in our house for almost a week.” She glanced down at the paper in front of her, her lips turned down. “I should have confronted her, asked her why she hadn’t just told me I couldn’t go, but I chickened out.”

I leaned over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. She rested her head against my chest, and after a few seconds, I could tell she was sobbing.

Several minutes passed, and now I felt bad for all the petty things I’d said about why I wanted to leave Pecan Flatts.

The garage door sounded as it opened, and she sat up straight, eyes wide as she swiped at the tears. Instead of saying anything, she focused on tapping at her keyboard.

“Are you okay?” I asked, tilting my head so I could see her face through the curtain of her hair.

She sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

I touched her forearm, causing her to stop typing. “I’m glad you did. Sometimes it’s nice to share things with people.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be the girl who always cries around you. It’s not something I typically do in front of…anyone.”

“Brynn, it’s fine. Really.” I lightly touched her chin, turning her face to mine so she could see I was serious.“I like you, and I get some of what you’re going through.”

The door from the garage opened, and in walked my father, his tie loose and his hair mussed. It must have been a rough day at the office. He usually looked like this when a big project would be going to the city council and he had to get all the ducks in a row to make sure it passed everyone who needed to add approval.

“Nate, who’s your friend?” he asked, setting his briefcase on top of the counter and dropping his phone and keys next to it.

“Brynn Miller. We’re working on a group project.” My tone was clipped, and I didn’t want to have to explain anything.

My dad smiled. “Nice to meet you, Brynn. At least you’re getting this kid to do some homework. Maybe he’ll get his grades up.” He chuckled a bit and then stepped over to the cupboard, pulling down a cup.

“How was the office, Dad?” I asked, irritated that he would take a jab at me like that in front of Brynn.

“It was a rough day. I was going through the accounts, trying to find some of the money we’d set aside for a few upcoming projects in the city, and found a few discrepancies.” He chugged the water and placed the cup in the sink where my mom would probably complain about it not being put straight into the dishwasher. “We’ll have to have a bigger investigation starting tomorrow, which only delays those projects longer.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Everton,” Brynn said, giving him a small smile before turning back to the screen, typing away.

“I’ve got some more work to do,” my dad said, walking past the table and glancing up at the football game still playing on the TV. “But I think I’ll leave the rest of it until tomorrow. Maybe you can watch the later game with me when you’re done with your schoolwork, Nate?” He gave me a smile, the one I remember from before all the campaigns and debates and speeches that made him the mayor.

I was torn between the anger of wanting him to feel what I’d felt the past few hours, or months even, and wanting to rekindle the close relationship we’d had before he sold his company and went into public office.

“Yeah, we’ll see how long this takes,” was the only answer I could give him.

30

Brynn

That was the first time I’d heard Nate’s voice so frustrated. He’d told me enough about the situation, but seeing it in person was something else. When his dad invited him to watch the football game with him, Nate’s face showed his indecision, like he wanted it to be real but wasn’t sure his father could be trusted. I imagine it was a lot like when my mom had invited me to go out with her, the hope in his eyes apparent. We’d have to make this go fast so one of us could connect with our parent like old times.

“What are you making?” Nate asked, pointing to the screen.

“A spreadsheet. Then we can track the date, the meals, and what we’ll need to buy for them.”

His eyes went wide. “That’s a great idea. I probably would have just tried to write it on a calendar or something.”

I smiled, trying not to let the clean scent coming from him make me dizzy. Or worse, want to kiss him. Because that would be awkward with his dad sitting in the room right next to us.

He’d told me he liked me. Sure, the definition of “like” might not be as much as I liked him, but at least there was something there and I hadn’t been imagining it.

It took us another hour to come up with all the dinners and lunches and breakfasts, a few of them repeats so we didn’t have to get all new ingredients.

It was almost six o’clock at that point, and I was tired.

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