Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“Because not everything is about the thing. Sometimes it’s about the journey. About the satisfaction of reaching the goal,” I say.
“And the goal was…?”
“To spend time with…my friend.” I open the notebook, take the pen, and think carefully about what to write. Then it hits me. I jot it down and show her: I am a thief, and today I stole a moment.
She takes the pen and scribbles her own words beneath mine: The moment was the treasure.
I flash back to our treasure hunt a year ago when we found the locket—a treasure for a treasure. She’s harkening back to that, and, well, I always am.
We’re crouched close, our heads nearly touching, sharing the same air, the same quiet thrill of discovery. It’s just us and the evening light, and the memories of our one day together between us.
A memory that’s getting a reboot. It’s no longer just our past. It’s our new present. I could lean in, hold her face, catch her lips in a kiss. The pull is so intense, it’s hard to resist. Sometimes, I wonder why I’m so drawn to her. Other times, I know. Deeply.
Because she’s fearless. Because she’s here with me, treasure hunting, saying yes. She’s stealing moments too—moments off the clock, moments that aren’t planned or predictable. Moments that are just…exploring the city I’ve come to love.
As we crouch there, the evening light softening around us, I reach out toward her ankle, brushing my finger against the silver bracelet. I trace the cool metal and her soft skin, her eyes flickering with sparks of desire—sparks that mirror my own. “Maybe now?”
“It’s already on me,” she teases.
“A technicality.”
She nibbles on the corner of her lips, her gaze drifting to a nearby bench. She rises and makes her way over to it. “Then take off the technicality.”
I’m there so fast. Bending, reaching, then fiddling. I have steady hands. I could take this off quickly.
But I don’t.
She lifts her leg slightly, resting her ankle on my knee.
I linger, taking my sweet time unhooking the bracelet with the camera charm, letting my fingertips trail over her skin. I glance down, and goosebumps rise along her ankle. My throat goes dry. I’m dying to lift her foot to me, to kiss her bare ankle, to brush my lips on her skin.
Instead, I let the anklet fall into my hand. “A technicality,” I murmur, my voice thick with tension.
“Such a lovely technicality.”
Then I bring the charm to my lips, press a kiss to the tiny metal camera while holding her hot gaze, and return my hands to her ankle.
Her breath comes fast as I put it on her again, my fingers grazing her skin as I hook the clasp.
She didn’t need it redone. It’s another reboot, another stolen moment.
But really, it’s another loophole.
When it’s on, she stretches her leg out, twisting her foot to admire the charm. “It’s like a kiss.”
I let out a long breath. “I wish it were.”
Her voice is soft as she says, “Me too.”
As the sun fades, we leave, and I walk her home. “When are you moving back into your old place?” I ask so I don’t ask other things, like can I come up, and do you think about me all the time too?
“This weekend. I only have a few things. I’ve managed to fit almost everything into two suitcases.”
“Impressive,” I say. “Do you have to use those packing cubes?”
“Of course. How else would one pack?”
“I can’t even imagine,” I say, making small talk, but also wondering something. “How are you getting it there? You don’t have a car.” Then it hits me. Her dad does. He’s probably helping her.
My stomach churns as I wait for her to say his name. The man I respect. The man I work for. I can’t cross a line again. I really can’t.
“I’ll just Lyft. It’s no big deal.”
I probably shouldn’t go there and acknowledge the issue, but there’s also no point not acknowledging it. “You won’t ask your dad?”
“Nah. If he sees the apartment and how small it is, it’ll just set off a new round of I really wish you’d let me cover your rent, find you a place, help pay for things,” she says, and holy shit, it’s uncanny—her imitation of him.
I part my lips but I’m too shocked to speak for a few seconds. Finally, words form. “You sound just like him.”
She laughs. “Well, I don’t think that’s too surprising.”
It’s not, but still, it’s another reminder. “True,” I say, then shift gears. “Do you need a ride?”
For a brief moment she pauses, clearly thinking. “I’ll be okay.”
Not going to lie—I wanted her to say yes. But I don’t want to let on I’m disappointed, so I ask, “Will it be weird moving back in with them? And the loud banging?”
“Ask me tomorrow night,” she says.