Page 60 of Once Upon a Lie

A voice in the back of my mind with the life experience to scare me clears her throat, but I ignore it.

We’re still sitting here, and I’m already daydreaming about another date, for Pete’s sake.

Relax, Teeny. Concentrate on this one for now.

“So . . . what about you?” I ask. “Tell me something—”

His phone trills, and he winces. “I’m sorry.” He pulls it out of his pocket. “I’ll just put this on silent.”

“No, no,” I offer. “That’s okay. See who it is in case it’s important. There’s no pressure here.”

He smiles gratefully before glancing down at the screen, and within a second, his expression goes from relaxed to unreadable.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at his phone again. “Just . . . a buddy I used to work with. Needs a favor.”

I smirk. “What kind of favor?”

“The kind that involves driving across town and pretending I know how to fix something I probably shouldn’t be trusted with,” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket again. “I’ve been doing a lot of that to keep busy lately, and this ask is particularly desperate.” He sighs. “See, if you hadn’t let me read that, I wouldn’t be considering buzzkilling the best bagel of my life by leaving right now.”

“That’s okay,” I concede with a laugh, working hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Sounds very high stakes.”

“Extremely,” he says, standing and tucking the stool neatly to the counter. “Lives may or may not depend on my ability to tighten a bolt.”

I laugh. “Well, I’d bet on you, Shane Maddox. I’m living proof of your talents.”

He hesitates for a moment while his eyes lock with mine—slowing the movement of air in and out of my lungs. “I hope I get to see you again soon, Teeny.”

I raise an eyebrow. “We’re neighbors.”

“Yeah. But that’s not the kind of seeing you I meant.”

And then, after a little wave and a smile, he heads out of my shop. The door chimes behind him when he leaves, and for a long time after he’s gone, I’m still smiling like an idiot.

Yeah. Safe to say, things have changed. I definitely want to date again.

I want to date Shane Maddox.

19

Shane

5:30 p.m.

Mike’s meeting spot this time is an abandoned industrial lot off Dickerson Pike that’s highlighted by cracked pavement and one flickering streetlight.

He’s leaning against a black sedan when I pull up. No jacket, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened, he’s casual in the way that still screams Fed and a whole lot uglier than the date I just left to be here.

“Maddox,” he says as I climb out. “Let’s make this quick. I got places to be.”

“Good to see you too,” I answer, shoving my hands in my pockets.

He gestures for me to walk with him down the edge of the lot, and I do, the soft sound of our footsteps on pavement echoing into the fog that’s settling in. “Let’s start with Alfred. What’ve you got?”

I exhale, both to steady myself through the discomfort of dishing on a very likely innocent woman and make the information sound relevant. “Alfred’s harmless. He’s eighty-something. Lives downtown in one of those old holdout houses the city tried to buy years ago. Has a chihuahua-pug hybrid named Pip. Likes bagels, crossword puzzles, and judging by the way he talks about the radio, hasn’t owned a TV since Nixon was in office.”

Mike squints at me. “No connection to Cordone?”