Page 103 of Stolen for Keeps
Sheryn helped me tuck the shopping bag onto the stroller handle, securing it between Dylan’s snack cup and a squeaky toy shaped like a cow.
While she was focused on adjusting the straps, I pulled my phone away from my ear and gave in to habit, swiping open Annamaria’s profile. Dumb, yeah. But necessary.
Same curated garbage and overfiltered selfies. Some throwaway caption about how birthdays should last forever, minus the aging.
Sure. Like mother, like daughter. Her face practically yelled Botox.
Dylan reached for my phone. Even he knew I needed to quit scrolling.
“Alright, alright. I’m putting it away,” I muttered, just as my thumb landed on an older post.
Lauren Conrad’s wedding. Vintage California.
I’ve always dreamed of a vintage wedding, and Queen Conrad is the perfect inspo. We’ll add our own twists, of course. Thanks @napoleonweddings for making my dream come true.
Vintage. Of course.
It was only a matter of time before the necklace came back into play. Lauren Conrad hadn’t worn one, but one of those “twists” might be exactly what I was afraid of.
Suddenly, Dylan squirmed and started sulking.
“Don’t tell me he’s about to turn into a gremlin,” Sheryn deadpanned.
I shoved my phone away.
“Oh, you wanna walk?” I asked Dylan, already bracing for it. Sure enough, he wriggled harder and let out a scream.
“Okay. Okay.” I set him down, and he took off toddling, his hand in mine, happy as anything.
I made my way toward the exit, one hand clutching the shopping bag, the other intercepting Dylan’s attempts to grab every coat sleeve that passed within toddler range. I was half-focused, half-wrangling, and didn’t see them until they were right in front of me.
Two men in uniform.
My feet stopped dead. My heart didn’t. It slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.
Both wore sheriff stars, and both carried the kind of calm that made my nerves prickle. I was already halfway to turning around, back toward the store and back to Sheryn, who was still inside, trapped in a friendly ambush with Paul. But too late.
“Whoa there,” one of the men said with a polite dip of his head. “Didn’t mean to give you a scare.”
The taller one extended a hand. “Howard Colton. Sheriff.”
The other one followed. “Deputy Granger. We’re just doin’ a sweep through Main.”
My throat suddenly went dry. “I’m Maya,” I said, unsure why I felt the need to keep my last name locked behind my teeth.
They didn’t press.
Instead, they both turned when Dylan’s little feet slapped against the sidewalk, a toy hammer clutched in his fist.
“Well now,” Sheriff Colton said, crouching down. “You got a license for that?”
Dylan dropped his butt onto the pavement and gave the hammer one authoritative tap against the ground.
“That’s official,” Deputy Granger declared.
I let out a shallow breath.
“You two new in town?” the sheriff asked, rising to his full height again.
