Page 67 of Slapshot Bride

I’m about to close my eyes for a few more hours of sleep when my phone beeps. I merely glance at it and try to ignore it.

Maya. The photographs.

And just like that, my mood drops. I know I can’t keep ignoring her anymore. I need a plan, and fast too, if I’m going to keep Riley safe.

I roll off and sit up. The device is on the nightstand, and it beeps again. I grab it to see a text from last night, and two notifications. I read the preview in the notification, and that is enough.

Maya:

Tick Tock.

That was from ten-thirty last night.

Maya:

She’s Riley Brooks, isn’t she? Preston Sinclair’s missing bride? Bet he’d have a field day with your career if he knew you were hiding her.

This was from a few minutes ago. The last is a notification from a random app.

My eyes scan Maya’s texts again. My heart races. I stare at them until the words mix, and all I see is her devious face.

I want to respond. Say something, but I kill the urge. Not today. As soon as we’ve dealt with the photographs, Maya’s next.

I delete the texts and drop my phone.

My eyes return to the woman on the bed. She’s still fast asleep, soft snores slipping from her lips.

I exhale and get up.

I pull on sweats and head to the kitchen for my morning coffee. I walk into the kitchen, and the first thing I see is my laptop on the kitchen island.

She borrowed it two days ago to do a bit of research.

Curiosity gets the best of me. I slide my fingers across the screen, and it lights up. She left a tab open. A camera review site. Beginner versus intermediate bodies. A comparison chart still pulled up, five models side by side, with one of them circled in a notes app screenshot pasted into the browser bar.

An idea pops into my head. One I can’t tell her, but I need to execute it fast. Abandoning the coffee I came for, I make my way upstairs, grab a shirt and my phone, and I’m downstairs again.

Ten minutes later, I’m at the island, perched on one of the stools, scrolling through my phone, on an online marketplace, with coffee in hand.

Another twenty minutes pass, and I see it.

A garage sale on Mulholland, with a flyer listing all items available on sale. That’s my cue. It starts in thirty minutes. Enough time for me to make it there and be back before she’s fully awake.

Time passes in a blur. It takes another hour before I’m pulling into the driveway. I walk through the door, and the first thing that hits my nostrils is the smell of pancakes and maple syrup.

“Perfect timing,” she says with a smile, sliding a plate to the center of the kitchen island before hopping onto a stool. “I made enough for two.”

I cross the space between us. Place the bag on the table and kiss her temple, palm wrapped around the back of her neck to hold her in place.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mhmm… m-morning,” she stutters. It’s cute. I peck her lips and sit opposite her because I want to see her face while she eats.

She raises a fork with a slice of pancake dripping with maple syrup to her lips, but I lean over and swallow it.

“Hey!” I kiss her lips and wink at her.

Her cheeks turn a bright shade of crimson… and my eyes follow the trail down her neck until it disappears into the neckline of the shirt.