Iced Romance (15 page)

But it doesn’t make sense! Why would he assume I’m missing? He cheated on me, I packed up and left, and now he’s putting my face out there, claiming I’ve been kidnapped? I’m a grown woman, not a child! Can’t people change their lives without having their faces blasted all over the news?

I am furious.

“Maybe,” the barista looks doubtful. “I’m sure it’ll come to me. I could swear I saw you like two seconds ago.”

I shrug and lean forward over the newspaper, taking a sip of coffee. It’s hot and I spit it out back into my cup. Crap, that hurts.

The guy has left, disappearing back behind the counter to help another customer. I am relieved, but also nervous. How many other people in here have read today’s paper? Will anyone else recognize me?

Will David?

That part of my life is over. It’s done. I’m a new person here. I don’t want to explain my past to anyone. Especially because my past is so embarrassing. Being cheated on. No career to speak of. I still don’t know how Elin Nordegren managed to survive with her face in all the tabloids after Tiger’s affair broke out. I’m humiliated enough with only the small amount of recognition that I’ve been getting.

I take a bite of my muffin, but, despite it being fresh and moist, it gets stuck in my throat and I can’t swallow. I take another sip of coffee and make sure no one is staring at me.

I need to clear this up. I need to talk to the police and let them know I’m not missing! This is such a nightmare.

I leave my coffee and muffin behind and make a beeline for the door. The police station is a few blocks away, and I only have an hour left before I need to be at work. I begin walking, checking the street for a cab. I don’t see one, so I pick up the pace.

I arrive at the police station at eight thirty and go directly inside. The station reminds me of the glass plated one on
Law and Order
. A woman with a buzz cut is sitting at the front desk. She looks up and nods her head. She doesn’t smile as I approach.

“Hi,” I begin, not really sure how to report yourself un-missing.

“Can I help you?” she inquires. Her voice is low and tough, as if she’s seen things I could never dream of.

“Yes, I need to report a missing person as not missing.” That sounds ridiculous and the woman raises one eyebrow at me, a look of confusion on her face. I try again. “What I mean is that an ex-boyfriend has reported me missing and I’m in the newspaper, but really I’m not missing. I just broke up with him and left. Does that make sense?”

The lady frowns at me, but a muscle in her cheek twitches and she looks like she’s stifling a laugh. She turns in her chair and grabs a clipboard from the desk behind her. “So you’ve been reported missing. But you’re not missing.” Even to me, the words sound bizarre.

I nod. “Yes. I read about myself in the paper this morning, and I’d really prefer that the policemen back home don’t spend a lot of time, you know, looking for me and all that.”

“I don’t know how to fill out this paperwork,” the woman admits. “Hmmm, let me see if one of our detectives is available.”

Detectives? Suddenly I know what the nagging feeling was as I walked here. David! We can’t get a detective involved!

I panic and grab the woman’s hand as she punches in a number. “Please, don’t call anyone!”

The woman jerks her hand away from me. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps.

“Look, I have to get to work,” I say frantically. “I don’t have time to fill out a lot of forms or anything. Just write down on the paper that Kennedy Carter is not missing! Okay? I’m fine, I’m here, no big deal.”

“Kennedy Carter?” An odd expression crosses her face. “You’re Kennedy Carter? The one that Todd Marusiak cheated on?”

I swallow hard. Sheesh, does everyone know that? “Yes, that’s me. And, for the record, I left Todd of my own accord, and now he’s starting a man hunt for me and my face is in the papers and I really want all this to go away!”

The policewoman stares at me and then nods her head. “Okay. I’ll notify the boys in Denver about the situation. Just let me see your identification and I’ll let you be on your way.”

I hand her my driver’s license and she makes a quick photocopy of it. Then she gives it back, tells me that she’ll take care of it, and I thank her. I am turning away when she says, “Hey, look, I’m proud that you left him. Women need to stand up for themselves more.”

“Thanks,” I say uncertainly. I walk away, feeling a bit better. Everything is cleared up and my life should get back to normal. Leila never reads the newspapers. The other waitresses I work with only read gossip magazines. And David is working all day today with those social work cases. He probably won’t have the time to read one even if he wanted to.

I think my nauseating secret is still hidden.

I slip my shoes off and pick them up. Then I start running. I need to get to work!

I have barely run two steps when I hear my name. “Kennedy?”

I feel my stomach heave. Thank goodness my stomach is empty or I might throw up right here. David is climbing out of a car, holding a briefcase and some files and looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

I must make a strange sight. I’m barefoot, wearing my puke green uniform, and am a good twenty minutes from work. I’m holding my strapless sandals in my hands and he just witnessed me leave a police station and start running down the street.

“Uh, heading to work.”

“But why are you at the police station?”

I look around, hoping for some inspiration. David is walking closer to me. He’s wearing a button up white shirt, a bright red tie, and he looks gorgeous. I can smell his cologne, kind of an Old Spice sort of scent.

“I, uh,” I have no idea what to say. I could tell him the truth. But having David know about Todd would complicate things. Besides, I don’t want his pity. Nor do I want him to think I’m an idiot, a loser with nothing to be proud of. I want him to like me, without any of my emotional baggage.

“I had to report a, uh, robbery.” That’s sort of true. My privacy
has
been stolen. Now, as long as David doesn’t ask any more questions, maybe I can keep from telling any more half-truths.

“A robbery?” David looks concerned and his forehead wrinkles. “Your apartment was broken into?”

Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’m definitely lying to the cops. Kind of.

“Uh, no, not my apartment. It was just a, uh,” I look around. A nearby jewelry store gives me an idea. “A necklace! I think my necklace was stolen.”

“Did the officers inside get it all sorted out for you?” David looks way too anxious. “Where was it stolen from? Work?”

I don’t want to get anyone at Maxie’s in trouble for this alleged crime, so I shake my head, sending my hair into my eyes. “No, not from work. It was, uh, on the street. I was wearing it, and, uh, the chain broke. So I turned around to pick it up, but this kid grabbed it and ran off.”

I brush my hair off my face and feel heat rise in my cheeks. David’s a cop. He probably can tell I’m lying. I keep my eyes steady, refusing to look away. David shakes his head ruefully. “Poor Colorado girl. What a great welcome to Florida. Did you give the police a description of the guy?”

I am beginning to panic. This is getting way too detailed. I am spinning so many lies! I should just tell him. “Truthfully?” I begin, pausing to sort my thoughts.

“Truthfully?” David echoes.

“Truthfully,” I say again, and then it comes to me. Just play it off. “Truthfully, I was going to report it missing and I came all the way down here, but then I thought, the kid needs it more than me, probably, and since he found it on the street, it wasn’t really a robbery. Right? So I guess I’ll just forget about it and move on. No need to report it to the police. Which is why I’m leaving.”

This is how liars get caught. They give way too many inconsequential details and chatter away incessantly until they get caught in their web of deceit.

David holds out his arms and gives me a hug. “Well, it’s your choice to report it or not. I doubt they’ll make it priority, even if you do, but I’m glad you are okay regardless.” In his embrace, I feel secure for the first time this morning.

“I should get going.” I step away from him and avoid looking into his clear eyes. I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll see into my soul, see all my lies and what a horrible person I am.

“I’m glad I ran into you.” David’s gaze is unwavering. “You made my morning.”

Really? Warmth spreads through my body, making it feel as if he were hugging me all over again. “I’m glad I ran into you too.” At least I’m sort of telling the truth now. “And I wanted to tell you thanks. I had fun yesterday,” I admit shyly.

“Thank you for coming with me.” David sounds amused again. “So you walked all the way down here before work just to almost report a necklace missing but then you decided against it?”

He sounds like a cop on
CSI,
like he might, at any moment, lock me away for lying. Skeptical.

I look at my bare feet. “Well, you know, the morning walk really clears my head. And besides, the necklace was no big deal, which I realized after walking down here.”

“Morning air does that for me too. Always makes me think better.” David looks at his watch. “Look, I have to run. I’ve got some calls to make before a meeting with those social workers, so I’ll talk to you later. If you’re free on Monday, do you want to grab dinner? I’ll take you somewhere far better than Maxie’s.” His eyes are on mine and I agree without looking away.

I have no clue if I’m working Monday night or not, but somehow or another I’ll get it off.

“Kay, I’ll see you then.” David reaches out and squeezes my arm then strides away into the police station. “Just make sure you’re wearing shoes when I pick you up,” he calls over his shoulder.

I blush deeper. How in the world can he like me? I am shaky, but despite my humiliation, I feel something else. Something happy. I have another date!

I look at my watch. Crap, I need to be at work in ten minutes. Now I really have to book it! My feet make a slapping noise as I run along the sidewalk, desperate to get there on time. My uniform sticks to my chest and legs and I already know today’s going to be brutal. Being the BO waitress is never a good idea when you want tips.

Maybe, despite it being slightly evil, I can blame the smell on Gary.

Bring it on.

“I never need a repeat,” Gary grumbles. “I’m not stupid.”

“Sure, okay.” I stand there awkwardly for another second then walk back to the dining room to check if any of my tables need drink refills or if anyone else is ready to order.

Leila is standing in the main aisle, talking to a lone guy at a table. He looks familiar, and with a little jolt I realize that I’m beginning to recognize the regulars. I’m not the newbie anymore, am I?

The man looks up at Leila as I pass. He is holding the menu and says with a bit of a singsong in his voice, “Hmmm, I don’t know what to order. Think you could help me?”

I suppress a laugh. He’s totally flirting!

Leila’s reply is instantaneous. “Really? You’re in Maxie’s, ordering from our oh-so-succulent lunch menu. You’ve been here plenty of times and you know it all tastes like crap. Just pick the thing that tastes the least like crap.”

Before I can hear his reply, an old woman beside me taps me on the arm. “Waitress? I forgot to mention that I wanted a
large
portion for my spaghetti.”

I smile at her. “Of course, ma’am. All our portions, except for the kid’s menu, are the same size, so I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with it.”

“Hmph.” She doesn’t seem convinced and turns back to her friends at the table. “People always try to rip off seniors. They think we don’t know how to defend ourselves.” She tilts her head meaningfully toward me.

I leave before she can complain anymore about senior discrimination. A table near the back wants some pie for dessert, so I jot it down and head back to the kitchen.