“Gina, I just saw him. Patrick is headed toward the jewelry store.”
“Oh, shit, no way.” My heart thuds. This is it. I don’t know how to feel, but I want to be prepared for what is coming. Patrick and I had dinner planned for the following evening, and ever since I received the call from my grandma, I’ve been nervous about what was going to happen. I’d been hoping he’d get a room at a hotel and sprinkle rose petals all over the bed and say he had to have me, but I wanted that more for the moment than I wanted to sleep with him. And I sure didn’t want to marry him. I think back to our last conversation and him asking me if I had a trust fund and the way I’d laughed sarcastically and said, “Only for about ten million,”and he’d gone silent. Had he believed me? Was that why he was going to propose? Or was he really in love with me and just saving our first time for marriage so he could be romantic?
“Okay, he just stopped. He’s looking at something on his phone,” she half-whispers and then squeals. “He’s going into the store. I repeat, he’s going into the store.”
“Oh my gosh, no way.” My jaw drops. This is really happening. “Take a photo and send it to me.” I sound excited, and then I remember the man behind me. “He is thought to be a member of an international jewel heist crew, and we need to see what he’s scoping out.” It’s sad that I do think that he could be looking to rob the store.
“I can believe that,” Emma says seriously, and for the first time in my life, I’m okay with the fact that both my best friend and my family think that my maybe boyfriend is a crook because it qualifies what I’m thinking. I look back at the grumpy man to see if he heard what Emma just said, and when his eyes meet mine, I smirk as if to say,I told you this was important. He rolls his eyes in response, and I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him. I am twenty-five, not five, after all. I’m about to say something when he looks down at my sweater and pauses.
“Is that the excuse?”
“Huh?”
“Have you not had your coffee yet? Do you only function rationally with caffeine?”
“Hmmm. Maybe.” I grin at him and try to ignore the way his fingers brush through his silky hair. “Okay, what is happening now?” I take another step forward, my heart racing. I check the glass case. My cupcake is still there, and there are only three people ahead of me now. Two of them are old men, and I am pretty confident they won’t be going for my cupcake. I am almost positive that the cupcake will be mine.
“I don’t know. I’m still behind the trashcan.”
“Move, Emma. Move, go into the store, if you have to.” He’d only met her once, and he hadn’t really been that friendly, so I doubted he would recognize her.
“You’re not going to say yes, are you?” She sounds incredulous, and I quickly put my hand against the speaker to stifle whatever she’s saying. I dare not look back now. I have no idea what the man was thinking, and I don’t want to know. I’m almost positive he’s judging me. Probably thinking I’m some sort of psychopath or the world’s worst federal agent—if he ever believed me, which I’m almost certain he didn’t. The man looked too handsome, too intellectual, and too worldly to have for one second gone along with my story. I debate telling him he’s on ahidden-camera TV show to save face. Or maybe I can say it was some sort of test to see how strangers act when around weird people. I groan inwardly. I just need to stop with the lies and get out of here.
“Any updates?” I try to whisper into the phone.
“Hold on, I’m going inside. He’s looking at something.” Emma sounds shocked. “Girl, I think he’s looking at the rings. Holy shit, is this man crazy? No offense, but why on earth would he think he should propose right now?”
“Fuck, am I about to become a wifey?” I am much louder than I should have been, and I hear the man behind me coughing. “Agent, keep on the target,” I say weakly, and I’m thankful when I notice there is only one more person in front of me.
“Is this some sort of social media bullshit?” the man behind me asks. “Are you trying to become an influencer?” He says the last word with such disdain that I almost tell him to stop being a hater, but I don’t. Instead, I press my finger to my lips and tell him to shush.
“You’re not with the FBI, Agent,” he says sarcastically. “What are youdoing? Spying on your boyfriend with your equally immature friend?” He shakes his head and gives me a very disgusted look. “Some of you women are out of control.”
“Hey,” I mutter, though my face is now bright red. He’d called me out and gotten it right. Well, mostly. I wouldn't tell him that the man I was spying on wasn’t even technically my boyfriend, because that would sound even more ridiculous.
“Gina, are you there? What do I do now?” Emma whispers. “Oh, shit, shit, shit. Gina, get here now.”
“Wait, what happened?” The phone goes dead, and I groan. I’m up next, and I do not want to lose my place, but what if Patrick really were robbing the store? I cannot just leave my friend there. “Hey, do you mind holding my place for onesecond?” I ask Grumpy, and then look at the lady behind him. She nods, and he snorts, and I quickly hurry out of the store. I run down to the jewelry store and see Emma standing there, her phone in her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, my battery died. I thought he was looking at me, but he wasn’t.” She wrinkles her nose. “He’s still in there.”
“Oh, okay, well, hold on. They are holding my spot in the coffee shop, and I’m up next. Let me get our coffees and my cupcake, and we can discuss further. There was this rude-ass guy in the store, so I don’t want to be gone too long.” I run back into the store and see the grumpy guy at the counter, placing his order. I hurry to the front and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m back.” I smile at him. “Thank you for saving my spot.”
“I’m ordering right now,” he says, a light in his eyes as he shrugs. He turns back around and continues with his order. “A black coffee and that strawberry cupcake right there, please.” He looks back at me again and offers me a wink. “I’ve heard it’s delicious. I hope it was worth the wait.” My jaw drops as I watch them box up my cupcake and give it to him. I can’t believe it. I’m so mad I can barely talk. I don’t know what to say. How can he have done that to me? “Have a nice day, Special Agent Crazy-Ass Girlfriend Gina,” he says after he pays and grins at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile, and his face transformed. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And I hate him.
“You stole my cupcake,” I wail as he walks past me, and all he does is laugh. I stand there in shock, not even sure what else I can say or do because, honestly, it feels like poetic justice for all my lies. And yet, that doesn’t make me feel better. “You stole my cupcake,” I shout, louder this time, and the asshole just stares at me, slowly opens the box, and holds it up to me. His face changes, and he looks thoughtful.
“Would you like this, Special Agent? I do like to honor those who sacrifice themselves for our country.” I glower at him inresponse and watch as he takes a big bite out of the cupcake. Pink frosting oozes onto his lips, and he rubs his stomach slowly before turning away from me with a small, tantalizing wink. All I can do is stand there and try not to cry.
CHAPTER THREE
Gina
Dear Diary,
I just woke up from the craziest dream. I dreamt of that thief from yesterday. The one who stole my absolutely mouth-watering cupcake. I shall call him the Grump Who Shall Not be Named, partially because I don't actually know his name, but that's irrelevant. My skin still feels warm from the dream.
It felt so real, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not. Though, let’s be real, he was a jerk, so dreaming of him just shows that I have major issues. I dreamt that when he took the box with the cupcake, I grabbed it from him, and as I went to take a bite, he picked me up and carried me out of the store like some sort of caveman. I was across his shoulders while wearing some sort of skimpy dress, and his large hands brushed against my ass. I'd been fighting the urge to run my fingers through his silky hair. So, yeah, as you can imagine, I am pissed at myself. Who has a sexy dream about a man who stole her cupcake? And no, that's not a euphemism for something else.
