One Day Fiance

“Set it up, Hunter.”

His eyes bulge as he nods, his chin digging into my hand. At his agreement, I let him go. Turning to walk out, I realize that everyone in the entire coffee shop is staring at us, and I can see at least two people already reaching for their phones.

Quickly, I switch into a character and laugh, throwing my hands out. “My bad, folks. He said Backstreet Boys were better than N’Sync. Can you believe that shit? N’Sync forever, man.”

A few people titter uncomfortably, but someone quietly sings, “It’s gonna be may.”

Hunter clears his throat uncomfortably but covers for us with a horridly off-key attempt. “Backstreet’s back, all right. Forever and ever.”

I force a smile to my face, hoping it looks natural and congenial. I’m not known for faking nice and harmless anymore, but I can still pull it out when I need to. Thankfully, it works, and hands fall away from phones, but eyes from all over the room follow me as I walk out the door.

I’m only a few stores down when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

H: Consider it done. I’ll text with time and place. Hope she’s worth it.

Me fucking too, man.

Me too.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something, but after a week of stellar weather and flawless skies, the clouds decide to open up. It’s not a drizzle, either. It’s raining cats and dogs and soaks everything in town.

But I made a promise, and I have an appointment. Hunter texted me the meet info, and I know I’m putting everything in jeopardy by calling JP like this. I no-show this, it’s not just Poppy that I’m hurting. I’m hurting myself because you don’t make a man like JP stand around for a no-show. It’s not a good investment in your retirement plans.

Turning up the collar on my jacket, I adjust my baseball cap to shield my eyes and speed-walk out to my truck, hopping in only to find Poppy sitting in the passenger seat already. “Where are we going?”

“Son of a bitch!” I yell, shocked and surprised . . . and a little scared. How’d I miss her? And does she know how close she came to getting unintentionally punched between the eyes? “How’d you get in here? And nowhere. Get out.”

“A lady never tells her secrets. And yes, you are. And no. I’m sticking on you like Gorilla Glue.” She presses her palms together with an evil smile. “So, where are we going?”

“You’re not going. Don’t you have to walk Nut and Juice?”

“Already did it,” she says, “and they hate the rain.” She tilts her head, reconsidering. “But they love their doggie rain boots. Nut’s are yellow, and Juice’s are red. I considered blue for both because ‘blue boots’ is kinda close to ‘blue balls’, and that’s funny considering their names, but then they’d fight over them. So I got two colors because they fight enough as it is.”

I blink, not sure what the hell she’s talking about. I got lost somewhere around rain boots for dogs.

“Where. Are. We. Going?” she repeats slowly and precisely like she’s not the one who spent the last ninety seconds talking about her dogs’ color and weather preferences.

I growl, sighing in frustration. “I’m going to get info about the laptop.”

“You mean ‘get my laptop’,” she corrects. I shrug, not worrying about that grammar point, and she growls back. She probably thinks it’s mean and threatening, but little does she know, it’s fucking adorable. “I’m coming along.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I’m wasting time. By the time I could get Poppy out of my truck, the truck might have rusted to dust around us. JP would definitely think I’d ghosted him. But maybe . . . yeah, it’s possible. Bring her along, ditch her for a few minutes to meet JP, and she’ll be none the wiser. “Fine. But you have to do as I say. These are dangerous people, Pops.”

She looks a little nervous at that, but she steels her spine and says, “Let’s go.”

We drive downtown to the University Art Museum where JP requested our meeting. I’m not surprised. UAM’s security isn’t as good as it seems, and I suspect JP or someone in Big’s organization recruits their forgers from the local fine arts program. Also, he’s more interested in the amount of money a piece can bring on the black market, but he’s got a good eye. He has to so he knows if something is worth the risk of obtaining.

“Let’s check out the ‘Techno Landscapes’ exhibit,” I tell Poppy, knowing that will get us close to the meeting point with JP. Poppy agrees, and we enter the newest of the exhibits. It’s a curated assortment with some professional pieces mixed in with the best of the fine arts student pieces.

“This one has good technique,” I mention as we stop in front of a painting of a car junkyard. She stares at it, but I can tell she doesn’t see what I see. “The way the steel pipe is so straight . . . you can’t do that without using some kind of edge to guide your brush. But to do that without blurring your base layers . . . that’s skill.”