As he examined the baked goods, pretending to be a customer, he noticed a space between a metal bread rack in the customer area and the front counter. He took a few steps to there and angled his body into the spot, making out he was examining bread rolls stacked on the tiered shelf behind the serving area. In this position he felt fairly protected and hidden from street view.

Miss Sweetness kept glancing over at him and smiling. If she’d known what he’d just done, her smile might not be so wide. He pulled out his phone and pretended to make a call, speaking in a lowered but animated voice. As he continued the fake conversation, he nodded and turned, bending to look out to the street through the bread shelves.

Any moment now he expected Orelia or an ally—possibly the waiter who appeared so charmed—to run by in hunt of him. Minutes passed, maybe five or six, and nobody came. He continued talking and nodding during his fake call, until his bladder punched him in the gut. He couldn’t stall any longer; he had to leave this safety and get farther away. She could just as easily check in nearby stores. Like this one. That had nowhere to hide.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” he said to conclude his fake call.

Now to get out.

“Thanks,” he called to the girl who’d finished with her rolls and now rearranged bread loaves into groups. He wished he did have time to grab a cinnamon roll. They smelled delicious, but what self-respecting thief eats on the job? He almost chuckled out loud at the stupid thought. Sometimes his wit appeared at ridiculous moments.

Without looking back, he moved to the exit, muscles tensed, his body ready to spin on a heel should Orelia appear at the window. The sound of traffic seemed too loud, as he pushed open the door and found himself again exposed on the street. He snuck a look toward the café but the crowd of pedestrians traveling along the pavement obstructed a complete view.

He had only one thing he could do, and that was run and hope like hell he ran from her and not toward capture. Holding the bag against his chest, his legs pumped as he raced along, dodging between the strollers, who were, at this speed, an obstacle course.

The bag made his gait awkward and he misjudged a sidestep around a couple—inconsiderate twosome, walking side-by-side—and glanced off the bear-like man. Two more staggering steps, and he’d lost his footing. Unable to recover his balance he came down hard, ending up sprawled on the pavement.

“You okay?” said the bear, whose shoulder had been his downfall.

In the spill, Orelia’s bag flew from his arms and now lay a yard away out of reach.

After everything he’d just survived, had luck just left him like that? Here on the street, where the risk of being found compounded with each moment. He could cry, if he wasn’t so terrified that when he looked up Orelia’s smiling face would look down upon him.