Chapter 5
Chapter Five
TINSLEY
I t’s hard not to get lost in Aiden Fuller’s eyes. They’re sparkly blue and full of mystery—have I mentioned that I love sparkly things? All of that sounds cliché, straight out of the A Golden Deception in Texas script. But this would be the moment in the movie when we slide closer together, gazes locked, and with expressions of longing burning between us. The music would crescendo...
Then I remind myself that I’m on a man-cation.
And that steel bars separate us. My first reaction to being locked up was sheer panic. That gave way to a surreal sense of unreality. Is this actually my life?
Less than forty-eight hours ago—I think because hours and days are blurring and bending—I was living the life of luxury having returned from a night out at “Qube,” a new club, and crashed at what I thought was Puma’s Malibu mansion. I had plans to meet Sienna for a spa treatment the next day. We were going to hang out in the infinity pool at her boyfriend’s house after brunch at the famous restaurant at the end of the pier.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I walked right off the end of the thing and into someone else’s life.
Like cut scenes from a movie, I try to piece together the interrogation by the FBI, my flight to New York, my brother basically ejecting me from the family, and then driving without a clear destination other than the bottom-most part of the country. Sure, I’d planned to go to Miami, but now I’m in jail.
I’m in jail!
When John finds out he’s going to have a field day. Wait, did my parents report the car stolen? Are they the reason I’m here?
“Officer Henley, sir? Do I get to make a phone call?”
“Of course,” he says simply.
“Oh, really like from the movies?”
“Often it’s portrayed as you only get to make one call, and while that might be true in some jurisdictions, you can make as many calls as you like as long as the person on the other end is willing to pay for it. In other words, you have to call collect.”
My breath runs roughly from my lungs. “Okay. Thanks.”
The truth is, I’m not sure any of the Humbers would accept a collect call. Can cell phones? Because I don’t think anyone I know has a landline never mind the fact that I don’t have their numbers memorized.
Side note: I didn’t realize those were still a thing, relics from old movies. Seeing as my friends, except Sienna who didn’t seem all that concerned, haven’t so much as checked on my welfare, I’m not sure who to call.
The Ghostbusters? I amuse myself because I also tried out for the part of a ghostbusting trainer in the latest in the movie franchise: “Ghostbusters: Spooky School.” I didn’t get the part, nor do I think it ever made it to theaters.
“Did you want to make a call?” the police officer follows up.
I have to give the guy credit, he’s been nothing but kind and understanding. He’s merely doing his job. The fact that he holds to the letter of the law in my case means he probably also keeps actual criminals off the streets—ones that seem relatively few in this town.
“Maybe later. Thank you.”
I’d love to take these high heels off, but going barefoot in here is probably about as smart as walking through airport security without socks on, which is to say it would be dumb. While the cell is relatively clean and not the kind from a movie set with a metal bowl encrusted with substances that ought to go to a crime lab, a filthy floor with rat droppings, and a wall emblazoned with scratch marks that denote the number of days the inmates have been inside, I don’t dare get too comfortable.
“What are my rights as an arrested person?” I ask.
The police officer stumps over, hiding a playful smile behind his mustache. “I read them to you earlier, but you have the right to remain silent.”
“Are you telling me to be quiet?”
“No, I’m just suggesting you can refrain from answering if Aiden over here pops the question.” He chuckles as if he overheard my fellow jailbird talking about us getting married and me being the future Mrs. Mayor.
Aiden’s smirk grows at Officer Henley’s comment.
When Officer Henley arrested me, he asked if I was under the influence of alcohol. I wonder if he submitted Aiden to the same line of questioning. Though he doesn’t seem drunk, he’s either slightly off-center or extremely confident. I’ve been around plenty of guys like him. All talk. No substance.
If we’d met in any other circumstance, I wouldn’t mind going on a date. But I imagine he’s just trying to make this detainment bearable. To be honest, I don’t blame him a bit.
But he did say I’m beautiful. I tuck the compliment away for now to spare myself disappointment when he sees the real me.
When our eyes first locked a little while ago, I pegged him as the Southern Agent from Malibu. But that’s way too small world —and I’m not talking about the Disneyworld ride. My thoughts are so muddled, stretched so thin from lack of sleep, and relative disorientation due to the current state of affairs, that I can’t be too sure of much other than my name.
My cell neighbor can’t be the guy from Malibu. The house crawled with investigators and countless people were in and out of the room at their headquarters building. In my memory, the night is already foggy, bleary, and it’s very unlikely a member of the FBI would be locked up with me in this little town in the middle of nowhere.
Also, I’m hungry and anything I say or do can be blamed on the doughnut not quite doing the trick. I wouldn’t say no to dinner with this guy—dressed in a well-tailored suit and expensive shoes. He looks like he knows how to shop and frequents the gym, focusing on bicep curls. I could go for some cheese curls. Stress makes me crave junk food. I could also go for French cuisine—they’re big into cheese. I daydream about my wedding—a French countryside theme in lavender and green? Parisian inspired with an abundance of flowers, lacy accents, and miniature Eiffel Tower centerpieces?
“Can you get married in jail?” I ask.
Officer Henley loops his thumbs through his belt. “That’s a good question. Don’t reckon I know for sure, but I believe so. I think you need special permission, but seeing as this isn’t officially jail and you’re merely detained, I suppose you won’t be here long enough for me to answer that.”
Excitement at being released flashes through me like the City of Light on a clear night.
He leans in slightly to add, “Now, just don’t go getting into any more trouble.”
“What about me? Am I free to go?” Aiden asks.
Officer Henley walks toward his desk, taking my hope with him. Maybe that was a tease and being the lone man here, he plays the joint role of good cop and bad cop. He drops into his chair with a creak and kicks his feet up on the desk, steepling his fingers as if thinking.
“Am I going to have to be on parole?” I ask, not exactly knowing how this arrest thing works other than what I’ve seen on TV.
“Seeing as I run the show around here, I’ve been contemplating your sentencing.” His tone is grave.
Aiden’s expression shifts like a camera lens adjusting focus. I don’t know quite what to make of it. Of him. He’s attractive and flirty, but he’s also here, which means he might be crazy or dangerous.
Then again, I’m behind bars too and no one would apply those two words to me. More like flakey and spoiled. I’m surprised at my rare moment of self-awareness and inner humility. I guess getting arrested will do that...along with the anti-pep talk from my brother.
Officer Henley claps his hands together, startling me from my thoughts. With surprising fluidity and speed, he bounces to his feet. “I got it.”
“You got what?” Aiden asks.
“Your punishment.” The keys rattle in his hands.
“You’re letting us go?” Hope lifts my voice.
“Of course.”
“Did you do this just to mess with me?” Aiden snaps both his fingers and points at the police officer. “Mae and Taylor put you up to this. It’s a prank. It would’ve been epic had you put Murder Doll in the backseat of the cruiser. Just saying.”
“Murder Doll?” I whisper.
Aiden gives a little shiver then waves his hand dismissively.
“No, this is not a prank. You were arrested for breaking into the mayor’s house and stealing his cat.”
“You have no evidence.”
“Eye witnesses.”
Aiden slumps back.
“Lucky for you, Mayor Stoll is out of town and I couldn’t reach him to see if he wanted to press charges.”
“So you’re letting me go?” Aiden asks.
“Yep, on a few conditions.”
He and I grip the bars, waiting for Officer Henley to reveal our fates.
“Miss Humber, you may not drive until you pay the fine for operating a motor vehicle with an expired license and apply for a new one, of course.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Don’t relax just yet.”
I stand at attention.
“Because the BMW you were driving was stolen, and much like Stoll, I was unable to contact the owners to find out if they want to press charges, it will remain in police custody until I receive instruction from,” he glances at a piece of paper, “says here the vehicle is registered to John and Meredith Humber. Any relation?”
“They’re my parents.”
“You stole your parents’ car?” Aiden asks.
“More like borrowed it. But does this mean they didn’t report it stolen?” Fingers crossed, they don’t know.
Officer Henley nods. “The supervisor of the garage where they keep it parked filed the report because an unauthorized user claimed the vehicle from the night parking attendant,” he reads from the paper.
I knew I should’ve given the guy my emergency hundred-dollar bill. Nonetheless, relief comes and I let it linger. For now, my parents aren’t the ones who had me arrested. Then again, they’re yachting, so they may not know about my little getaway or what prompted it.
I bite my lip. “Could I just return the car? That way no one ever has to know?”
Officer Henley’s mustache twitches which amounts to an eye roll as if I shouldn’t have bothered asking.
“Alright, Aiden, you are not to set foot on the premises of thirty-two Briarwood Court.”
“The mayor’s house? He filed a restraining order?”
“No, I did. For now. Behave yourself and I’ll see that it expires sooner rather than later. I also expect you to find that cat and return it.”
Aiden’s cheeks puff with a breath and he stares at the ceiling. “Yes, sir. But if, by chance, the cat doesn’t cooperate or prefers her current residence...”
Aiden gets the mustache twitch look.
“Alright, alright. I’ll try to track down Twinky. Is that it?”
Officer Henley wears an expression that I can’t read. It’s like he knows something we don’t. I glance around, looking for cameras and a crew to pop out and exclaim that we’ve been caught on hidden camera, or pranked, or some other cruel version of reality television.
“You will both perform thirty days of community service here in Butterbury.”
Aiden waggles his finger between us. “Together?”
“You got it.”
Suddenly heavy with dread, I say, “Did you say three days or thirty?”
“Thirty days, miss.”
“Thirty days of community service here in Butterbury, together?” I repeat as my world comes to a screeching halt.
“You got it,” Officer Henley says as if he just announced that we’re going to an overwater bungalow on Bora Bora. I could really use a trip like that right now.
Instead, I’m stuck. Here. In Butterbury.
“Can we rethink this? I’m supposed to be in—I mean I was planning to—” But there isn’t anywhere I’m supposed to be nor are the people I know in Miami expecting me. Plus, we only met once before while at a birthday party for a mutual friend while at a resort in Cabo.
Aiden leans against the bars as if he’s as thrilled as me by this turn of events, which is to say the news is about as welcome as getting arrested and thrown in jail.
“My good buddy Bubba has his hands full at the moment. Seems that the television show, Designed to Last, really boosted business. He can hardly keep up. Sadly, neither can his building. It’s half sunk into the marsh, overtaken by weeds, and the roof among other things needs repairs,” Officer Henley says.
“I can ask Mae and the ladybosses if they can take on the project. They love Bubba’s,” Aiden replies.
“Mae?” I ask without thinking.
“Yeah, my sister. She and her friends, who call themselves the ladybosses, have a show on HLTV called Designed to Last. Have you heard of it?” Aiden asks.
“Yeah,” I answer vaguely because I’ve also heard of Mae...and I met her. And said some unkind words to her.
“She’s married to my best friend, Taylor Whitmer.” Aiden leans as close as possible given the bars between us and lowers his voice. “You may have heard of him too. He used to be the guitarist in PJ and the Oak Brook Boys.”
Officer Henley hums one of their hits.
Even though it’s cold in this cell, I draw heat from somewhere and it goes straight to my face. Not in a flirty way. Nope, it’s like I’m caught red-cheeked. “Oh, right. Yup. Mmmhmm. I’ve heard of him. Them. The band. The guy too. Yep.” My response comes out twisted like a pretzel and dry too. I have a sudden coughing fit.
“Are you okay, miss?” Officer Henley asks with concern followed by Aiden gripping the bars closest to me.
I turn around and catch my breath, waving them off and saying, er, croaking, “I’m fine. Just swallowed wrong.”
But I’m not fine. Taylor and I have a history and there was the whole showdown at his farmhouse when Mae showed up with a chicken.
When I finally attempt to take a deep breath, it’s like my windpipe suddenly has edges and the air won’t quite go down all the way.
Officer Henley inserts the key in the lock of Aiden’s cell. “I have your word?” He claps him on the shoulder and his fingers flex slightly, suggesting his grip is firm.
“Yes, sir. I will try to find the cat, return it, and of course, do whatever Bubba needs.”
“Good man. I’ll check in on progress.” Then Officer Henley turns to my cellblock.
I stand in the center of the small space as the key slides in, the door opens, and my freedom awaits.
But I don’t move. I might be better off in here. The problem isn’t only Taylor Whitmer and Mae, but that she’s Aiden’s sister and we have to work together on Bubba’s—whatever that is—for thirty days.
When the small-town connections are made, I don’t think Aiden will be joking around that I’m the future Mrs. Mayor.
“You coming?” Officer Henley says, gesturing for me to exit.
I’m about to wring my hands and ask if he has a cot, so I could just stay here. He wouldn’t need to lock the door or anything unless the townsfolk come for me.
When he gestures, I stumble forward, hoping Aiden is about as protective over his sister as my brothers are over me, which isn’t protective at all.
“Too bad we didn’t meet under different circumstances, Miss Humber, but welcome to Butterbury. I hope you enjoy your stay,” the police officer says as I follow Aiden outside.
“Thanks,” I say lightly.
If I were to write a postcard it wouldn’t say Miss you, love you, wish you were here! Nope. I’m not sure what I’m about to walk into, but by the looks of the gathered crowd, it can’t be good.