Page 63 of Fallen to Thievery
“So, the person you’re giving this to will use it to forge money,” I stated, trying to process.
Grayson shrugged. “It’s not my business what they do with it.”
I stood from the bed, my body responding to the emotions my mind hadn’t yet processed. I paced before the bed, unable to keep still. This was way bigger than I had thought. “I’m an accomplice tomoney forgery?” My voice was a bit too loud and a bit too high.
Grayson laughed, the sound rippling through me. Being part of money forging didn’t seem to bother him one bit. “Welcome to my world, Princess.” He stood from the bed and pulled a shirt on, and without warning dropped his sweatpants.
I turned my head away, flustered, while he chuckled. “Gods, Grayson!” I groaned. He was such an unrefined brute sometimes.
“If I hadn’t seen you in action last night, I would have thought you’d never seen a man in underwear before,” he teased.
I peeked at him, making sure he was decent again, before turning back to him. Butterflies made their way down my spine as I remembered howhe looked at me. I was so wrong about him getting jealous. Instead, he was proud.
“If you’d loosen up a bit, you’ll find that you were made for this life.”
“I definitely am not,” I muttered. My conscience would never let me sleep if I lived like Grayson. I was a firm believer in Karma.
“Let’s get some breakfast, Princess.”
There were no souls on the streets, except for a newspaper boy on his bike, with the thickest mittens I had ever seen. The sun was still only a thought. We opted to walk. The diner we were headed to was only a few blocks away. We walked in peaceful silence, Grayson’s hand brushing against the back of mine every now and then.
The neon light that stated the diner was open 24/7 was still blinking, but it was completely dark inside. On the door was a handwritten note.Closed for the Sunday Service. Open at 11:00.It was clear that it wasn’t the first time this note had been used. The ink was already faded, and the paper worn and dirty.
It was Sunday. I had completely lost track of all sense of time. How long has it been? Grayson tried the door to see if it was unlocked. It wasn’t. So, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the back of the building.
“What are you doing?” I whispered for no reason. There was no one around to hear us anyway.
“I’m getting you breakfast,” he whispered back, teasingly. He grabbed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out two metal sticks. I had no idea what they were until he stuck it into the keyhole of the backdoor and I heard the lock click open. Of course, he would have such tools in his wallet.
“You just broke into a diner,” I stated dryly as he swung open the door.
“And why does that still surprise you?”
I rolled my eyes. But he was right. I kept expecting him to act normal, to bide by societal rules. It was stupid of me.
No alarms went off. There were no cameras either. It made sense. It was a small town. No one was breaking into the town’s diner on the Sunday mornings it was closed for church.
Except Grayson. He was looking around the kitchen and headed towards the pantry, which stood open.
“What would you like, Princess? No, wait. Let me guess. Pancakes?”
“Obviously,” I smiled.
He came out the pantry grinning, holding a tub of flour that had a label,Pancake Mix. He placed it on the steel island table in the middle of the kitchen, with some oil and chocolate chips. My mouth was already watering. He got milk and eggs from the fridge while I poked around for a mixing bowl. I was already an accessory to forgery. Breaking and entering into a diner for breakfast didn’t seem that bad now. But still.
“How are you going to repay our unwitting hosts?”
Grayson frowned at me as if it was an outrageous thought. Nonetheless, he made his way out the kitchen to the cash register, where he took outa couple of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet, held it up for me to see through the service window, and dropped it into the tips jar. It was more than enough to pay for the pancakes and the use of their kitchen.
Satisfied that Karma would not come knocking at my door, I helped Grayson make the pancake batter. He was whistling cheerfully, the same tune he always whistled while cooking, that I still couldn’t place.
“What are you whistling?”
Grayson’s face fell, making my own heart drop. I immediately regretted asking. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy, cheerful. So much so that my own good mood leeched away at the sight of his face.
Grayson gave me a small smile. “My mother used to sing it whenever she was baking. She loved baking. I guess I picked up the habit.” His brow creased. “But I can’t remember the words anymore. I remembereverything. Every conversation I’ve ever had, every word I’ve ever read, every thought that ever crossed my fucking mind…” He exhaled in defeat, his voice softening. “But somehow, I have forgotten the words to a song I’ve heard my mother sing a thousand times. It’s muffled in my mind.” He shook his head, his lips thinning. “I can’t find the song anywhere.”
I fought against the tears prickling behind my lids. This man had so much hurt. He had to endure so much. I contemplated whether to ask another question that would surely ruin his mood for the rest of the day, but I had to know.
