Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
She didn’t ask any questions because she’s used to my odd hours and odd jobs. I thought about giving the gift to her before we left but decided against it because this place is where we first met and fell in love.
She sighs again as she polishes off the last of her meal. “I could eat a thousand of these lamb skewers. Why can’t I replicate this at home?”
“We don’t have one of those swirly machines.” I swing my finger around.
“Rotisseries?” she supplies.
“Yes. Want one?” I extend my fingers and drag my phone under my palm, ready to make the call to have our kitchen renovated before we touch down in the US in two days.
She slaps the back of my hand lightly and laughs. “No. I just want to come to this bazaar.”
“We’ll come every year.”
“I can’t wait.” Her eyes gleam with happiness. More than the sun or makeup or filters, joy is what makes her shine. I want to keep that look on her face forever. I lean forward and capture her mouth in mine. She makes a small noise of surprise before kissing me back. I’m so caught up in my desire for her, I don’t sense the thief’s hand until it’s too late. The brown leather satchel by my hand is gone. I jerk back, but the black-dressed figure is already thirty feet away, dodging between people, trying to get lost in the crowd.
“Hang on, starlight, gotta take care of something.”
“Don’t be long.” She lifts her drink up and taps it against an imaginary glass.
A chuckle bursts out of me. I love her irreverence. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Same, but your mark is getting away.”
“I’ll get him.” I lean down and drop a kiss on her forehead before heading off. Because I’m tall, I can see the thief’s progress. Someone more experienced would have stopped running and tried to blend in more. This one, though, is weaving in and out, causing a commotion. I take an alternate, less crowded path and run parallel to him for a couple of minutes and then, when he tries to cross over to the bridge, I run full speed and tackle him.
He lands face first on the ground. “That’s gotta hurt,” I say as I rifle through his pockets. I find the satchel and tuck it into my inner pocket. I raise my fist to punch him but catch a gendarme eyeing me with suspicion. I get to my feet, hauling the thief with me.
“Sorry about bumping into you like that,” I say in mangled French.
The thief scowls and is about to say something that would get us both in hot water but stops when I jerk my head to the policeman lurking nearby. He immediately replies with a fake apology of his own. We give each other a few overly hearty taps on the back before I let him go.
When I return to Georgia, her drink is gone, and her food tray is empty. Her phone is face down, and her face is lifted toward the sun. My chest physically aches with love for her.
I drop to one knee beside her chair. “I’d better give this to you before I lose it.”
Her eyes pop open and she dips toward me. Her hand comes to my forehead. “You’re a little warm. Did you have to work hard?”
“No. Not even a bit. Are you wondering if I caught my mark?”
“In the five years we’ve been together, you’ve never not been successful.” She places a kiss on my brow. “You caught me, after all.”
I grab her hand and press it to my face. “My biggest prize.” With my free hand, I reach inside for the satchel. I roll it out, displaying the ring and necklace that once belonged to her grandmother. She gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth. She doesn’t have any contact with her family now, but I know her grandmother meant so much to her. Hell, the woman brought her to me.
“You didn’t,” she says behind her fingers. Her eyes begin to sparkle.
“Don’t cry,” I order.
“I’m not,” she lies as the tears leak out. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the jewelry pieces. “I thought these were lost forever.”
We’d tried to recover them when we first returned from Paris. I was going to give them to her for our wedding and then our first anniversary, but I couldn’t find the damned things. A couple years ago, she told me to give up, but I refused.
“If I can find a terrorist in a remote hideout in a mountain village in Van Turkey, I figured these would show up someday. A woman had bought them from the secondhand dealer,” I explain as I fasten the necklace around Georgia’s throat. “Then she died, and the will was in probate for years as her kids fought over the estate. The will got overturned, and then it was appealed and the whole thing didn’t resolve itself until a month ago. The son who won sold everything in the estate, and that’s how I found these.”