Page 128 of Stolen for Keeps
“No!” Dom said, practically shouting. “Donotcome near The Sundown, or Noah. At least not until this blows over. Please.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning a sleepover,” Logan muttered. “For the record, I’ve never gotten cozy with Noah.”
Dom smirked. “Not even once?”
“Not even tempted,” Log fired back. “Look, if you need a clean handoff, I’m heading to the feed store tomorrow.”
“Nick’s place?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Sheryn’s husband. Might be a little too close to the grapevine,” Dom reasoned.
“Well, I always swing by Mrs. Sutton’s harvest shop for lunch. How about I just…bump into you there? Swap sandwiches?”
“Perfect,” I said. “Everyone goes to Mrs. Sutton.”
“Then no one’ll think twice,” Log replied.
There was a beat of quiet before I added, “You don’t have to do this, Log. You really don’t.”
A smile laced his next words. “I’m older than you, remember? Wiser too. And stubborn as hell. Don’t worry about me.”
I didn’t earn a friend like him. Just got blessed dumb lucky.
The call ended, but the tension didn’t go away. It clung to the corners of the room like steam that wouldn’t lift.
Maya didn’t say much. She just tied up her hair, pulled out a mixing bowl, and started baking, the sound of the grater scraping against the cutting board, the thuds of carrot peels hitting the bin.
By the time she slid the cake into the oven, the whole kitchen smelled of salvation. If salvation came toasted in vanilla and nuts, with a crust and a glaze, and made you forget the cops were breathing down your neck.
By late afternoon, we were at the kitchen table, our plates scraped clean, and steam curling off mugs of coffee. Reko snored under the window.
“This is incredible, Maya,” Dom said, licking a smear of frosting off his fork without shame. “If you ever want to switch careers, I’d fund the bakery.”
“It’s not for sale,” I muttered, reaching for another sliver.
“Cake or the woman?” he asked, grinning.
“Both.”
Maya rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Her cheeks were a little pink.
“So, Dom,” she said, tucking one leg under herself on the bench. “How did you and Noah meet?”
Dom leaned back, hands behind his head. “Ah. That’s a story.”
Here it comes.
“I was based in California, mostly handling mergers and acquisitions and a few criminal defense cases for the rich and rotten. Then, one summer, a tech company in Utah brought me in to oversee a hostile takeover negotiation.”
I groaned. “Don’t let him dramatize this. I wasn’t hostile.”
Dom ignored me and continued, “So I show up to the courthouse for a pre-meeting, and there’s this guy wearing a button-down that hadn’t seen an iron in its life, holding a cup of yogurt, talking into a headset, and simultaneously arguing with the front desk clerk over a mix-up with parking validation.”
Maya raised her eyebrows.
“That guy was Noah.”
