Five Stolen Rings

Chapter 9

STELLA

The day after the glass-in-foot incident, I decide a few more precautions might be a good idea—specifically precautions that will help keep Jack out of Maude’s house.

At first I look at the Home Alone movies for inspiration, but Kevin McCallister was trying to do damage. That kid was brutal, and Harry and Marv should’ve died halfway through the first movie.

There’s one booby trap that holds promise, though: the plastic wrap coated with glue.

So when I finish up at Maude Ellery’s the next evening—one of the cats has finally introduced himself to me, and he’s a real jerk—I dig through Maude’s cabinets until I find what I’m looking for. I set a reminder on my phone to buy her a new roll of plastic wrap, and then I get to work.

The entire face of the window that doesn’t lock properly, blocked with cling wrap that’s taped to the window frame—that’s what I settle on. I use duct tape—I’ll have to buy Maude more of that too—and pray that it won’t strip the paint when it comes off. I get in five solid layers of plastic wrap before I run out.

I do not use any glue, because that sounds like a mess, and the logistics are more than I want to figure out. A sense of gleeful satisfaction shimmers inside as I eye my handiwork, and when I head home, it’s with a smile on my lips.

The next day when I return to feed the animals and air out the rooms, however, the plastic wrap is gone, and a sticky note containing three words is stuck to the windowsill.

I grit my teeth and crumple the note up as tiny as it will go; then I chuck it into the trash can with more force than necessary.

There’s no more cling wrap left, and I haven’t bought more yet. Should I break out the rolling pins again?

I chew on my lip for a moment as I stare at that pesky window. Jack shouldn’t be coming here, digging through Maude’s belongings—even if she took something from him.

But if I were here while he looked around…he’d get to search, I wouldn’t have to lay any more traps, and I might even get some help setting up all these decorations.

Plus, you know—this house is kind of intimidating when I’m here by myself.

I take the night to think it through, and when I wake up the next morning, I’ve decided: I’ll leave a note for Jack with my phone number, so I can see what he thinks.

It’s a great plan; everyone wins.

Except, as it turns out, part of my great plan is rendered unnecessary later that afternoon, when the man himself walks through the doors of my parents’ market.

Jack is dressed in jeans and a button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, looking professional and mature if not a bit tired.

I’m wearing a red employee apron and restocking canned chickpeas. So. That feels good.

My pride stings enough when he appears in my line of sight, but I don’t actually feel the desire to hide until I see the two women on either side of him: Lucretia and Sophronia Willstead, identical down to the last peroxide-blonde strand of hair, expensively dressed with purses dangling from their bony elbows.

I haven’t seen the twins since we graduated from Windsor Academy, when we promised to be friends forever and then lost touch six months later and never bothered to pick back up again. It’s plain to see they’re holding Jack against his will; they’re each clutching one of his arms, dragging him along and chattering enthusiastically, and he looks utterly bewildered, like he has no clue how he got here.

Do not run, I tell myself firmly, stilling my feet as the three of them start down the canned goods aisle. This is your job now, and there’s nothing wrong with earning an hourly wage.

And I hate—I hate —that I can tell myself those things and mean them, and yet part of me is still embarrassed and ashamed. Why is it so hard for the rest of me to get on board with what my brain already knows?

You know, I realize as the twins’ gazes find me still crouched in front of the canned beans, I’m not sure I ever learned how to fail.

Because it’s a skill, isn’t it? When you go ice skating, you learn how to fall down first. Then you learn how to get back up safely.

Did I ever learn how to do those things?

“Stella Partridge?” Sophronia says as the three of them approach, Jack’s eyes wary on me, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks just as embarrassed as I am to be seen like this—like he tried to fight off the twins and failed.

“Hi,” I say, placing the last can of chickpeas on the shelf and then standing up. “It’s been a long time. How are you guys?” I give myself a mental pat on the back for how normal my voice sounds.

“We’re amazing,” Lucretia says, tightening her arm around Jack’s. “We thought we’d visit some of our old stomping grounds while we’re here.” She gestures around the market. “And look who we ran into on the way!”

Jack gives me a pained grimace, and I force myself not to smile.

“I see that,” I say. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other so well.”

“We don’t,” Jack mutters, but the twins just laugh.

“We remember you from school,” Lucretia says, giving Jack’s arm a fond pat. “We wanted to catch up!”

My guess is that if Jack didn’t look like he does—undeniably attractive, even when he’s wearing a sour expression— they’d be less interested in reconnecting. I keep this thought to myself.

“Enough about us,” Sophronia says, her eyes shining as she looks me over. “What are you doing here? Are you visiting for the holidays?”

“Nope,” I say, still keeping my voice normal—fake it til you make it—and smiling as genuinely as possible. “I moved back. I’m working here until I can find something else. What about you guys—how long are you visiting?”

“Oh,” the twins say in unison, their eyes widening identically, their mouths forming little o s of surprise. They look at each other, so quickly I almost miss it, and then look back at me.

“Why—what—” Lucretia says.

“The management at my old job was very difficult to get along with,” I say, mostly to save her the trouble of formulating a question that comes off as polite. It’s not a lie—not technically.

I’m tempted to cover my jaw anyway, just in case it twitches and gives me away.

“Oh,” they say again, drawing the word out this time. But my gaze isn’t on them; it’s been pulled, against my will, to Jack.

I shouldn’t care what he thinks. I really shouldn’t. But…I do. And it’s hard to tell what’s going through his mind—it always has been—but I don’t think I’m imagining the same flash of curiosity I saw the other night.

Curiosity, and maybe even…concern?

“Well, that’s—” Sophronia starts, but she breaks off awkwardly.

“Great!” Lucretia cuts in, her smile forced uncomfortably now. She tries to nudge Sophronia, only she seems to forget that Jack is in between them, because she elbows him in the ribs instead of her twin sister. “That’s great. Good for you for getting out of there, then.”

Sophronia nods vigorously. “Absolutely. Workplace environment is so important, isn’t it?”

And it’s this—the way they pick the thread of the conversation back up—that reminds me of why I liked them. They’re a little silly, a little shallow, but ultimately kindhearted.

“And we’re just here until New Year’s, and then we fly out, back to Boston,” Lucretia says.

“It’s nice to be back during the holidays, isn’t it?” Sophronia continues. “There’s just something different about Colorado snow.”

“There is,” I agree, even though I’m not sure Colorado snow is any different from other snow. “And the air is so crisp.”

All right, this is fine. We’re talking about the weather.

“We were just telling Jack—there’s a get-together scheduled during break, if you guys want to come!” Lucretia’s voice is back to being bright and natural, her smile no longer forced. “A Windsor reunion while people are in town. Not for any specific class—just all alum! Are you still at the same phone number? I can text you the deets!”

I will not be going to any Windsor reunion, probably ever, but I nod. “Sure, text me.” Then I thumb over my shoulder. Maybe I’ll just leave Jack that note after all, rather than talking to him about it now. “I need to get back to work, but it was good to see you both!”

“And Jack,” Sophronia says, squeezing his arm.

“And Jack,” I make myself say; this time I know I’m not imagining the flicker of smug humor in his eyes.

He can laugh all he wants; I’m not the introvert being forced into small talk with the very extroverted Lucretia and Sophronia.

I wave over my shoulder and head gratefully down the aisle. It’s nice to see old friends, I guess, but I don’t have the mental or emotional energy to keep those encounters up for long.

I’m almost to the door that leads to the back when Jack catches up with me.

“Wait,” he says, and I startle when I feel his tug on my elbow.

I whirl around, surprised; he lets go of my arm, running his hand over his dark hair instead. It’s a good look on him, that mussed, messy vibe.

“Escaped, did you?” I say with a smirk, because I do not need to be thinking about what looks good on Jack Piorra.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” he says, raising a brow at me. “You know—common politeness?”

“You have no problem being rude to me,” I say, my gaze darting over him. “What do you want?”

“Now, now,” he says, stepping closer. His expression fades into something more sure. “Is that any way to talk to your newly established friend?”

“My bad,” I say. “What do you want, friend? ”

His lips twitch, a gleam of laughter in his eyes, but he doesn’t smile. “I want you to tell me what happened at your job,” he says. “The truth.”

“What makes you think you have a right to know?” I say. “Why on earth should I tell you?”

He doesn’t have an answer for this, and I nod.

“You’ve been back to Maude’s,” I say, because a change of subject seems prudent .

His body sags, his gaze flicking away from mine. “Why?” he says. “Want reimbursement for all that plastic wrap? Or are you going to have me arrested?”

“I thought about it,” I say, the words musing. “But no.” I pause and then go on. “So you haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for?”

His eyes return to me and narrow, like he can’t quite tell where I’m going with this. “No,” he says slowly, a thread of wariness creeping into his tone. “Why are you asking?”

“Because,” I say, and I stand up straighter. “I’ve been giving it some thought. And if you’re sure there are no cameras…” I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting.

“I’m sure,” he says, still looking suspicious. “Why?” His expression lightens, though, as his gaze flits over me, a crooked grin tugging across his lips. “Ah—I see. But as tempting as it is, Princess, I don’t feel comfortable getting down and dirty with you in my stepmother’s— ow .” He rubs his arm where I’ve just hit it, but his eyes are still laughing at me.

“Never in a million years would I even so much as kiss you,” I say severely—stop blushing , dangit—“and that is a promise.”

“A million?” he says in a soft voice, stepping closer and looking down at me as something wicked flares to life in his eyes. “That’s a long time, Princess. What if you change your mind?”

“I won’t,” I say with a scoff. “Ever.” How did we even end up talking about this?

“Mmm,” he hums. He’s silent for just a second, and then he nods. “Good,” he says. “I would never kiss you either.”

“Right,” I say, and I nod too.

“I wouldn’t even be tempted,” he goes on .

“I—there’s no need to be rude,” I say with a frown. “And you just said it was tempting.”

He shrugs. “I was lying. So get all those thoughts out of your head?—”

“There are no thoughts ,” I cut him off, outraged.

But he goes on as though he hasn’t heard me: “Because it will never happen.”

“Yeah,” I say with exasperation. “I know. So, since we’ve established that I’m not trying to seduce you?—”

“I think what you mean,” he says, “is that you couldn’t seduce me if you tried.”

I grit my teeth but keep going. “If you want to come over to Maude’s and just look for whatever you think she has— just look, ” I emphasize. “I would be okay with that. Please don’t take it while I’m watching the house. But you could still find it and prove she has it or something.”

Because whatever else Jack is, he’s not a liar—not about things like this, anyway. If he says Maude Ellery has something of his, I believe him.

“If you promise not to make trouble,” I continue, “I would even be willing to let you come over while I’m there.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You just think it’s a creepy old house, and you don’t want to be by yourself.”

“Well, it is ,” I say, because I see no point in denying it. “And the portraits are weird?—”

“So weird,” he says with a shudder.

“So, yes.” I clear my throat and then go on primly, “If you’re going to be over there anyway, I’d prefer to have you there while I’m there, friend. ”

And for a moment, he just stares at me, his eyes still narrowed, like he’s thinking hard about something. Then, finally, he nods.

“All right, friend,” he says, placing a delicate inflection on the word. “We can do this—on one condition.”

“If you say that I’m not allowed to fall in love with you?—”

“Not that,” he says, his eyes sparkling as his lips twitch. “Something else.”

I frown at him as something like foreboding zips up and down my spine. “We’re not really doing anything; we’re just going to be in the same place at the same time.”

“Just listen, please,” he says, rolling his eyes. He takes a deep breath and looks at me with something like hesitance. “How do you feel being around people drinking?”

I blink at him, feeling my brow furrow. “I feel…fine?” What a weird question. “Why?”

“You’re sure?”

My frown deepens. “…Yes?”

He nods. “In that case—I got roped into whatever get-together the twins mentioned.”

“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “Nope. No way?—”

“And I need you to come with me,” he barrels on, “because I already told them I would go”—a muscle jumps in his jaw, and when he speaks again, his voice is tight—“but that was before they told me Nat would be there?—”

“Ha!” I say with a snort. “ Definitely not. You’re on your own.” I turn to push through the swinging door that leads to the back, but for the second time today, Jack’s hand wraps around my elbow.

“In return,” he says in a low voice, “I will help you with everything you’re doing at Maude’s, and I’ll stay there whenever you want. I just need you to come with me and pretend—” He breaks off, and I raise my eyebrows.

“Pretend…?”

“Pretend that we’re—you know.” He clears his throat and directs his gaze to a spot just over my head. “Together.”

I blink at him, and for a second, his words don’t register.

He lets go of me and scrubs one hand down his face. Then, as though every sentence pains him, he says, “Please, Stella. I can’t handle a whole evening of Nat by myself, especially if she thinks I’m single.”

Privately, I agree. Nat Flindowski was the devotee Jack never wanted, the one who asked him to every dance, the one whose locker was adorned entirely with his picture. He was good-looking even in high school, though it maybe wasn’t as blatant then as it is now; but Nat’s feelings for him were on another level.

I never really cared for her much.

“Just—cancel,” I say, but my voice breaks. He won’t cancel. If he said he’d go, he’s going to go. And the look he gives me—the one that says It’s like you don’t know me at all —has me sighing as my defenses crumble.

“Just one night?” I say. “One reunion or whatever?”

“Just one,” he says firmly.

“And you’ll help me at Maude’s?”

“I’ll help you.”

“Because she wants me to decorate for Christmas?—”

“We’ll put a Christmas tree in every room,” he says, holding one hand up like he’s making an oath. “I swear on Gray’s Anatomy .”

And somehow I know that he’s not talking about the show.

“You are a doctor,” I say. The words come out accusatorially.

A little grin flickers across his face, a genuine one that warms me somewhere deep inside. “I might be. ”

In truth, I could have looked him up already. I considered it more than once—many times, in fact, over the years. I could have asked my parents about him, too. But it was easier not to think about him; the regret was easier to ignore.

It seems stupid, now, and cowardly.

The next words that come out of my mouth are not the ones I intend to say. “You said you didn’t want to be nice to me.”

His grin fades. “So?” he says as his expression goes carefully blank.

“So you’re being relatively nice,” I say. “I’m wondering what changed.”

“Nothing changed,” he says with a sigh. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

Ouch.

“Right now I have to stock beans,” I say, trying to keep my voice as neutral as his facial expression. “Give me your phone number, I guess.”

He holds out one hand wordlessly, and I pull my phone out of my apron pocket and hand it to him. He taps around for a moment and then passes it back to me.

“Later, Princess,” he says—and without another word, he spins on his heel and leaves. A brisk blast of winter air rushes in as he pushes the door open, so strong that it reaches me within seconds, but all the same…

I don’t think that’s why I feel so cold inside.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Hey Stella! This is Lucretia! Here are the deets: A fun evening of Windsor alum holiday cheer! We’ve rented out a room at the Hyatt in Boulder for a glamorous party and white elephant gift exchange!

Me

All the way in Boulder???

Unknown Number

Yes! Is there something wrong with Boulder?

Me

Sorry, no! Thanks, Lucretia. I’ll see if I can make it.