Page 6 of Delicate Storm

“What?”

“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”

Huh? My brows furrow, but with his arresting gaze boring into mine, waiting for a response, I don’t question him again. “Neither. I’m moving to California for…a change of scenery. What about you?”

“I was visiting a friend.” He’s quick to answer, and it’s safe to say that small talk is not his thing.

“Visiting a friend,” I repeat. “In New York? I wonder if I know them.” He stares at me deadpan as if to say “seriously” and I laugh. “What? It’s possible.”

“I was in Scotland. This is my connecting flight.”

He speaks with no emotion while my eyes light up. “Scotland?Wow. I’ve never been but I hear it’s beautiful.” I smile and picture the vast green landscape I’ve seen in movies, until a shiver runs through me when I think of the weather. “It's cold, right? Was it cold?”

“It was fine.”

“Fine?”

“If it was cold, I didn’t notice.”Interesting response.

“What sights did you see? Anything you’d recommend?”

Window hottie tenses and the frustration is clear in his posture, but he releases a breath and continues amusing me. “I spent the week breaking shit.”

“Breaking shit?” My voice rises, giving away my excitement at that prospect. I would love to break shit right now.

“Yep. It was needed.”

“In Scotland?”

“Yep,” he repeats, popping thep, and I find myself watching his lips until they purse, snapping me out of it. Again.

“You know you can do that here, right?”I know that because I’ve done it.Maybe it’s time to do it again.

“Break shit? I do. My ex does it all the time.”

His ex what? Oooh. I laugh out loud though I’m not sure he meant that to be funny. “I meant you could break shit for a release. Assuming that’s what you were doing. You know… You could crush a truck, smash a glass, destroy dinnerware.”

“Destroy dinnerware?” He raises an eyebrow and frowns. “Like a plate?”

“Sure. Or a bowl.” I shrug and I think I see the hint of a smile, but I don’t draw attention to it, though a small part of me makes it my mission to see a full-on grin before we land.

“As I said…my ex was good at that.”

“Wait. I thought you meant that metaphorically. Like she breaks hearts or promises.”

My new friend huffs out the smallest of laughs—if you could even call it that—and folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into his seat to create some distance between us.

“Nope.” He gives me nothing else, so I quickly move on.

“I find it’s better to do it in a controlled environment,” I say though I’m not sure he cares.

“That’s definitely a wiser move,” he humors me by answering. “Tell me. Have you ever destroyed dinnerware?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“I smashed a truck,” I deadpan, staring into his eyes, trying not to smile.

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