Chapter 3
MAYA
“Where were you?”
Sheryn stomped up to me with her arms crossed, looking exactly like a bride-to-be on a tight schedule. “I waited at the café forever. You ditched me for lunch, Maya!”
She had every right to be mad at me. I’d promised her.
But…if only she knew.
While she was sipping iced tea and picking out cake flavors, I was making my way back to the place that sent me to prison.
I’d crisscrossed Montana. I hitched a ride to an out-of-town rental, picked up gear from everyday shops, and pulled strings for the kind of tools you only get through prison contacts. It wasn’t like before. A few things needed bypassing, and the old trapper’s tunnel? Gone.
Then, I went back to Bridger Canyon and walked the same halls I had as an eighteen-year-old thief.
And I’d taken back what was mine.
Technically, my mother’s.
Not that it mattered. I hadn’t spoken to her since my arrest, and the one time I had? She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the necklace. Like it was cursed. Like I was.
But I didn’t steal it.
I reclaimed it.
Claimer. Keeper.
I winced, offering Sheryn my best please-don’t-kill-me smile. “Sorry, I had to. There was something I needed to do in Bozeman.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Suspiciously vague. Should I be concerned?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, layering on the innocence.
She clearly didn’t buy it, but her skepticism vanished the second she spotted the phone peeking out of my pocket.
“Ah-ha! You took my advice. Well done, bestie! And it’s pink too!”
“It was the only one that fit my budget,” I deadpanned.
Sheryn huffed, mock-offended. “Oh, didn’t I give you enough?” Then she grabbed my wrist, already dragging me forward. “Come on. You owe me.”
“Is this a kidnapping?”
“You bet.”
She yanked me toward her car and practically shoved me inside before peeling out of the lot.
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to The Lazy Moose.
The first time I’d been here, I’d been in awe. Sheryn had picked one hell of a venue. With wide-open fields and rolling hills, it was the kind of place that looked like it had been plucked straight from a postcard.
And the host, Claire? With her flower magic and easy kindness, she was the kind of person who made things bloom, literally and otherwise.
Before long, Sheryn introduced me to the other bridesmaids—Nick’s sister Lilly, and her work bestie Zara. Both stunning. Both effortlessly friendly.
“Oh my God, finally!” Lilly exclaimed, waving dramatically. “Maya, we’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” I said, shooting a look at Sheryn.
Zara grinned. “Mostly. But she did say you might be stubborn about the dress.”
I shot Sheryn a glare. “That sounds slanderous.”
Sheryn dragged me into a tent, spun toward the center, and threw her arms out.
“Ta-da!”
The dresses stood lined up on garment racks, silk and lace draping like the magazine clippings Katy used to tack above her bunk with dabs of toothpaste.
“Well, pluck my lashes,” I muttered. “These are actually…gorgeous.”
“Actually?” Sheryn repeated.
The truth was, I’d never been a girly girl like her growing up.
She’d played dress-up in sparkly gowns, hosted tea parties with stuffed animals, and had a collection of glitter nail polishes that could blind a person under the right lighting.
Me? I’d been the kid climbing trees, chasing stray cats, and running around in scuffed sneakers.
I traced my fingers over the fabric, the silk slipping between them like water. It wasn’t over-the-top. It wasn’t some frilly nightmare that would make me feel like a fraud. It was elegant and sleek, with just enough shimmer to make me feel like I belonged in something beautiful for once.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. It’s…nice.”
Sheryn smirked. “Nice? Nice? Try stunning, show-stopping, absolute perfection.”
I simply pulled her in, giving her a small peck on the cheek.
The fitting went smoothly and miraculously, considering the tent at The Lazy Moose was a swirling mess of satin, lace, and half-empty champagne flutes.
It was spacious enough not to feel suffocating, but between the racks of dresses, the full-length mirrors, and the whirlwind energy of bridesmaids in various states of undress, chaos still had a foothold.
Everyone looked stunning. Even me, I had to admit.
The seamstress moved efficiently, pinning, tucking, and adjusting. She doubled as the stylist, too, because the second she finished tweaking the last gown, she turned her attention to hair.
I barely had time to brace myself before she untied my ponytail, which had suffered the unfortunate combination of a ski mask, a getaway, and adrenaline-soaked sweat.
She combed through the wreckage, frowning slightly but saying nothing. Instead, she experimented with a few styles, pinning and twisting before stepping back to assess.
“French twist would suit you best,” she declared, nodding as if the matter was settled.
Ah. If only Katy were here.
“Alright, that’s settled then,” Sheryn announced.
The other bridesmaids stripped effortlessly out of their gowns.
Then there was me.
I reached for the zipper and tugged. Nothing.
I tried again. Still stuck.
I twisted awkwardly, my arms flailing. Because, of course, this was happening. Worse still, there was no sign of the seamstress.
“Okay, we gotta run,” Sheryn cut in, unaware, already gathering her things. “The restaurant messed up the menu, so we need to pick up a few things.”
Zara glanced over. “You good?”
I waved her off. “Go! I’ll be fine. Just moving a little slow.”
Zara smiled, hesitant but kind. Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass me, or act like I’d forgotten how to move in a dress after prison. Whatever the reason, she kept quiet and followed Sheryn toward the tent’s exit. And just like that, I was alone.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of prison, freedom, my second heist, the wedding prep, and Sheryn’s relentless energy. The real world was overwhelming as hell. But so far? I was still standing.
Now, if only I could figure out how to get out of this damn dress.