“I never did such a thing,” she said, gasping dramatically in disbelief.
“I found the empty spray-paint cans in the dumpster behind your bakery, Molly.”
“That’s circumstantial evidence at best,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Exactly why I didn’t arrest you for it,” I said, pulling my metal handcuffs out of their place on my belt. “Wonder what I would’ve found if I had run the fingerprints on them?” She looked down, probably surprised I was actually going through with it. If looks could kill, I would’ve dropped dead right there on the pavement.
“You made me do this, Molly,” I said cautiously, knowing I was basically reasoning with a toddler.
“And you made me do this—”
Before my brain could register what was happening, Molly jerked hard to the left, breaking free from my grip. I think even she was surprised that she’d managed to break free.
Once the realization set in, she took off at full speed across the park, through the crowd of protestors, and out of sight. I could hear her giggle as she sprinted farther and farther away.
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers, letting out a frustrated sigh. The paperwork was going to be a mile long on this one. Why was I even surprised? Molly never made anything easy.
Taking long strides across the park grass, I did my best not to make a scene. At least not one bigger thanthe one Molly had made by running. People were already pulling out their phones, probably telling everyone they knew about what they’d just witnessed. She’d be the talk of the town by dinnertime. But one thing about Molly—she didn’t give a damn what people thought about her.
I was kind of jealous of her ability to let everything roll off her shoulders. Her brain seemed able to reason with even the biggest problems in the world, understanding that, in the grand scheme of things, they were actually small. I’d never admit that to her though. Right now, my job was to find her.
As I made my way around the corner and out of sight of the protestors, I picked up my pace. I was at a slow jog now, scanning the scattered groups of people who walked along the red brick sidewalks, window shopping and enjoying their time in the cool spring weather.
A couple of them turned to me as I strolled past them, tipping my hat and trying to act as nonchalantly as possible—not like I was tracking down an escaped criminal.
As I continued walking farther down the street, a yellow sign hanging above one of the businesses caught my attention—Molly’s. What were the chances she ran back to her own bakery to hide?
I tiptoed to the front, trying to peek inside the glass windows before she noticed me. There was a shadowbehind one of the curtains. I tried turning the front doorknob. It was locked, of course. She had to be hiding in there, but knocking on the door, trying to get her to come out and talk was pointless. There was no reasoning with Molly McKinley. I’d have to sneak up on her somehow, trick her into coming out.
As I sat there drawing up a game plan in my head, I remembered the night I found the empty spray cans in her dumpster. Molly’s had a back door.
“Alright, Molly. You win. I’ll back off,” I said, calling through the glass door as I backed away and disappeared around the corner. I walked down the alleyway on the side of the building, then around the corner, easily finding the back door—unlocked.
“Too easy,” I whispered. I tiptoed through the back door and continued through the kitchen, making my way to the front counter. She was still standing behind the curtain, peeking out to see if I was coming back.
“I think you’re the worst criminal I’ve ever encountered,” I said, sneaking up behind her. She jumped and turned around, eyes wide and bulging.
“Shit, Liam, you scared the crap out of me,” she said, clutching her chest.
“You’re under arrest, Molly.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, and you know it. It’s not my fault you’re such a buzzkill. One sex joke and you shrivel up like a raisin. Nowthatshould be a crime if you ask me,” she said, holding her arms out to herside while pleading her case. “But you know whatisa crime? Breaking and entering. And that’s exactly what you did coming in here,” she said, crossing her arms, confident that she had me cornered.
“I didn’t break a door down to get in; the door was unlocked, genius,” I said, towering over her.
“Fine. Trespassing on private property. Remember just moments ago when you were going to arrest me for the same thing? So maybe I should be making a citizen’s arrest—of you, Sheriff.” She smirked, putting her finger to my chest.
“Circumstantial at best, remember?” I deadpanned, pushing her finger deeper into my chest by taking a step closer.
She stood there for a moment, pondering her options.
“We could call a truce,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “We’re even. No silly criminal records for anyone. What do you think?” she asked, smiling weakly.
“Your parents should’ve named you Jesse James instead of Molly James, you know that? You’re like a damn outlaw,” I said, making my way to the glass displays that held all her fresh baked goods. Cookies, brownies, cupcakes—you name it, it was here. I didn’t know how the girl was so good at baking so many things. I could barely boil water, let alone bake ten different desserts to perfection.
“How about this… I’ll accept your truce, if you bake me an entire pan of lemon bars. Fresh ones,” I said, giving her a serious look. “Don’t try to skimp out by giving me old ones, either.” I pointed at her. “I want the entire pan—fresh—by tomorrow afternoon, or I’ll have your wanted poster hung all over town by sundown,” I said, hoping she’d accept my terms.
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And where should I have said lemon bars delivered?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
