One Day Fiance

Connor catches the golf club in mid-air, mere inches from the glass case. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s talking to Pete, but I’m thinking . . . yeah, it was! Not hard to swing the club, but honestly, hard to stop! Later, I would’ve felt horribly guilty and definitely would’ve sent a check to cover the cost of the case replacement, but deep down, a twisted little corner of me was kind of excited to smash into the case like a giant piñata.

I wonder if I could add that to my story? If I’m not going to get to do it in real life, that’s the next best thing.

Or maybe I can just get an actual piñata and beat the hell out of it in the backyard? That’d definitely get the neighborhood talking. Though after my violent attack on Connor, they might be concerned for their safety, and I do not want to be a line item at the next homeowner’s association meeting. Those things are vicious!

“Diana Nichols,” Pete repeats, eyeing me suspiciously.

Oh, I guess I can put the golf club down now. I lay it on the case gently, even giving it a sweet little pat.

“Good job,” I whisper to the club, patting the head like it’s alive.

Connor shakes his head, probably enjoying my little wrinkles to the show. “Tell you what . . . we’ll take the ring, and I’ll give you an extra hundred for the sale sheet on the computer. I need to find Diana Nichols.”

“The ring?” I ask with a smile, glancing down at my hand and noting that it does look pretty sweet with the red stone gleaming there. “You don’t have to do that.” But at Connor’s look, I shut my mouth. Until . . .

“And the golf club,” I add happily, deciding it’ll make a great souvenir as well as be inspiration for when I write this scene in my book. Hell, it might even come in handy as some protection at home. After I beat up a piñata with it and eat all the candy guts.

Pete looks at me and then back to Connor, who sighs heavily.

“We won’t hurt Ms. Nichols. I just need the laptop. We’ll pay her for it too, enough that she can get a new one.”

“Two hundred,” Pete bargains. It’s in his blood, I’m sure. He’s got a customer, and he’s going to drive the best deal he can for himself. “Plus the cost of the ring and club.”

“Done.”

Pete tells Connor the total, and he pulls a stack of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills out of the wallet. But he holds them firmly until Pete hands over the printed receipt with Ms. Nichols’s name and address and the description of my laptop and I verify that it’s mine.

Exchange made and information gathered, we head toward the door.

“You’re not going to hurt her, right?”

I look to Connor, but he’s looking at me, and I realize that Pete is asking me, not Connor. He’s the scary monster, but apparently, I’m the one to fear. I might be a touch crazy because somehow, that makes me smile. “I won’t hurt her. I promise.”

Outside in the truck, I hug my new best friend, Gary the Golf Club, to my chest and stare at the ring on my finger. I’m wiggling like a kid at Christmas, and I know I’m grinning like a fool, too.

Connor says dryly, “That went well.”

I look at him to find him glaring at me. But instead of being put off or scared of that dark look, I think it’s kinda cute now. “I think so too.”

He sighs but puts the truck in drive. “This address is on the other side of town.”

We ride in silence until a few minutes later, he asks, “Were you really going to break the case?”

“Uhm . . . maybe?” I venture. “Can we get a piñata while we’re out?”

Connor looks at me like I’m crazy, but the idea of beating something up sounds good, really good, and like a great way to release some of this stress that’s eating at me . . . about the laptop, my book, and even about wanting Connor even though I shouldn’t.

But I’ve got a hell of a ring and a sweet golf club. I take a look and see Gary’s a 3-iron, which is just fine by me. Connor is again silent, but it’s almost a comfortable silence now. We’re doing this together, and that’s the bottom line.

It doesn’t take us long to drive to Diana Nichols’s house because traffic’s good today. Part of me wonders how Diana decided to go into that grungy ass pawn shop, but it doesn’t really matter as we get closer to her address.

It’s not a good part of town, and the apartment building’s the sort where I wouldn’t feel comfortable coming and going at night. There’s a guy sitting on the front steps, and he looks friendly. Maybe too friendly, like he’s looking for repeat customers to do a walk-by purchase.