Free Breaking Josephine by Marie Stewart Page A

the woman who
broke into Hartley Manor. When he met me on the street, I thought he knew, but
maybe I had been mistaken. What was it he said to me then? That we hadn’t been
“formally introduced?” Maybe that was just him being polite. And when he tucked
my hair behind my ear, maybe he really didn’t put it together that I was the
same woman who had been in his house. It was dark and my face was shadowed. I
only saw him so clearly because he faced the door and the moonlight that night.
And in the forest, maybe he was apologizing because he didn’t know me and just
kissed me out of nowhere when we’d only spoken a handful of words to each
other. I tried to think about all of our interactions from his perspective. If
I didn’t know me, and didn’t realize I was the same woman, seeing me at Macy’s
party and putting it together might make me mad too. Oh god, I wondered, what
if he wants to press charges? What if what I said only confirmed his
suspicions? I held my head in my hand and thought about all the possibilities.
    I was letting my
thoughts get carried away when I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and
there was Dex, wearing faded jeans, flip-flops, and a close-fitting, charcoal
grey t-shirt. He was standing on the threshold, hands in his pockets, looking a
bit worse for wear. His hair was still slicked back, and it appeared he hadn’t
slept much, if at all. Despite his obvious fatigue, he still looked incredible,
the tiredness softening his hard edges and making him more real, more
approachable. I stood there, staring at him, holding the door handle more for
support than anything else.
    “Hello,” I finally
managed to stammer. My heart started hammering in my chest as I thought about
the burglary and his pressing charges. I had an urge to slam the door in his
face, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off him and it took all my self-control to
not reach out and touch his face.
    “Hello, Jo,” Dex
said, interrupting my runaway thoughts. “May I come in? It’s a bit cold out
this morning, and although I could talk to you standing in your doorway, it
would be more comfortable inside,” he said, with a faint smile on his lips.
    “Oh … of course,
I’m sorry, come in,” I said, blushing as I opened the door further. “It’s not
much, but I do have hot coffee if you’d like some.” I shut the door behind him
and offered him a seat at the kitchen table. He took it, his large frame taking
up considerable room in my tiny kitchen. I could feel his eyes on my back as I
reached up to grab a coffee cup off the shelf, my tank top riding up and exposing
a thin band of skin above my jeans. I pulled my shirt down and asked, “How do
you like it?” as I reached for the coffee pot.
    “Usually in a bed,
but if you’d prefer the kitchen, that works for me too.”
    I turned at looked
at him, a confused look on my face. Reading his expression, I blushed again,
finally putting together what he was talking about. “Coffee. How would you like
your coffee?” I said, waving the coffee pot at him.
    “Black, thank
you,” he said, his smile widening.
    I took a deep
breath as I poured him the coffee, trying to control the tremors I felt in my
hands. By the way the conversation was going, it didn’t appear that he was
planning to turn me in to the police, but I felt the need to come clean, and I
didn’t want to always feel the tension I now felt in his presence. I resolved
to just confess and take what happened as it came. I handed him the coffee cup
and started talking while looking at the table, too much of a coward to look
him in the eyes.
    “Look, Dex, there’s
something I need to tell you—” I began as he started to interrupt. I
waived him off and continued “—no, let me get this out. I am the woman
who broke into your house the other night. I am so sorry. I didn’t know you,
and I didn’t think anyone lived there, and if I had known you I never would
have broken in, and I haven’t sold anything that I stole