Page 89 of Stolen for Keeps
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MAYA
Honestly, I’d never met anyone with as much grace as Claire. Noah had told me about Napoleon’s attempts to badmouth the Lazy Moose, which, let’s face it, was basically a smear campaign against the Lucases. I’d never felt smaller. I’d apologized over and over to both Elia and Claire, but especially Claire. And she just pulled me into a hug and told me not to worry, and not to do anything rash.
“Don’t stir the pot that doesn’t need stirring,” she’d told me. “I’m stepping back from the wedding business anyway.”
Saving that piece of trash had been my biggest mistake. I wish I could drag him back to that landslide and let it end differently. Let him see how it felt to be left for dead, and actually die from it.
Everything around him was still murky. No new threats, no fresh reviews, no unexpected heat. Noah and I had agreed that keeping the status quo was the smartest call. Until we had a solid plan for handling the second heist, staying put wasn’t just cautious. It was survival.
We never said it out loud, but we both knew. One day, Napoleon would pay.
This morning, Noah and I were at The Sundown. He had been pacing around the porch like a cat waiting for the can opener. When the delivery truck finally pulled up, he muttered, “Thank God,” under his breath, like our fate depended on it.
Rightly so. Because the “to be continued” from the other night came fast.
I watched the movers haul the king-size bed inside.
The frame went in first, a rustic wood-and-metal combo that looked like it had been handcrafted by a mountain man with feelings. Then came the mattress—thick, decadent, and plush enough to double as a life raft for royalty.
Heat pooled between my legs as I pictured him taking me hard, abusing the bedhead, and bouncing me all over.
“So,” he said, his hands on his hips once the room was cleared out again, “which way should we face it? Headboard toward the window or the wall?”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“Unless you want me to make the decision and then hear about it every time the sun hits your face wrong.”
Fair point.
I tilted my head, imagining the morning light pouring in. “Window. Makes it feel more open.”
“Window it is,” he said, already dragging the bed frame.
I reached for the bedding, which was still sealed in a shopping bag. “Did you get sheets?”
He looked oddly proud. “Three sets.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Let me guess. Gray, gray, and…gray?”
He had the decency to grin. “I almost grabbed navy.”
Reko, who had been snoozing in the hallway until now, suddenly got up and padded into the room. He circled the room twice, then let out a quiet little huff and sat facing the corner.
“Is he…sulking?” I asked.
Noah scratched the back of his head. “That’s his thinking face. Or his judging face. Hard to tell.”
Reko let out another huff, this time directed squarely at the bed.
“Oh no,” I said. “He doesn’t like it.”
“He doesn’t pay rent.”
“He pays in vibes.”
We both stood there, watching the dog like he was the world’s most passive-aggressive interior decorator.
