Page 24 of The Fate Factor

I rub my hands over my arms and look around. The bar is all cement and wood with rippled antique glass windows and a spray of round tables and black metal chairs across the floor. The walls are painted navy blue with a colorful logo that takes up one whole side. A wreath of pinecone shaped flowers, pale green and white, with a block font, gold F in the center.

An impressive wooden bar stretches along the entire back wall, and I head toward it. Even the taps are colorful and interesting, like a mini art display.

The bartender stops in front of me, hands on her hips. She shares my unimpressive height but her short, purply-black hair and lip ring tell me she doesn’t let it hold her back. “What can I get for you?”

A banner above the bar announces that there’s a new fall ale being launched, and I assume that’s what Jamie meant when he said it was a big night for him. I know from my due diligence internet stalking that he’s maintained the head brewer position despite the astronomical growth of his brand over the last two years, which means he’s kind of the head beer chef. Brewing is a more creative process than I realized, and I wonder if his recipes are as personal to him as my art is to me.

“I’ll have the fall ale,” I tell her.

While the bartender pours my beer, I fidget with a little pop-up tent on top of the bar that says a portion of tonight’s proceeds will go to a local children’s learning center. A smile I haven’tagreed to bubbles up. I guess I have to give Jamie points for philanthropy.

She slides the glass of dark beer across the bar, her gaze lifting over my shoulder just as a warm body steps into the air behind me.

“Put it on the house, Em.”

A shiver wiggles down my spine at Jamie’s deep, honeyed voice. Slowly, I turn around, somehow unprepared to see him again despite getting myself dressed and into a car to do just that. With a flush of heat to my cheeks, I’m reminded what Jamie looks like when he’s not in a hospital bed. And let’s be honest, he looked pretty darn good there too.

Tonight, though? Even the butterfly bandage on his brow and the purple beneath his eye can’t dull how handsome he is. His hair is perfectly mussed, wavy pieces sticking up every which way like the surface of a lake on a windy day.

Those dimples carve in deep, and it takes everything I have not to turn tail and run for the door. If the universe knew me at all, it would accept that I am far too awkward to handle a man with this kind of presence.

“You came,” he says.

“I said I would.”

“I know.” He laughs. “I guess I’m still not sure you’re real.”

Ha! I know the feeling.

He opens his arms as if to hug me hello, but I dodge it by lifting my pint glass in a dorky cheers motion. My body feels like it’s bracing for impact just being in his space. If these visionsarereal, I still have no idea how they work. What triggers them. I do know that I don’t want it to catch me without any warning. Hence why I’m acting as if Jamie’s a metal pole in an electrical storm.

He nods over his shoulder. “Let’s sit.”

I follow his slow trek across the room. He’s only using one of his crutches tonight which means he’s either feeling better or being negligent in his recovery. First impressions tell me it could be either.

Jamie lowers himself onto one side of an empty booth, the only free one in the place, and I sit across from him, hands folded in my lap. I look like I’m at a job interview, tucked tidily into myself while he man-spreads across the entire bench. I’m a kitten staring at a tiger.

“So what do you think?” His mouth edges up on one side—hesitant, hopeful. He’s looking for my blessing, a grade on what he’s accomplished with the information I gave him. My God, this is weird.

I spin my gaze around the room again, taking in the energy. It practically has its own pulse. “This is… impressive.” I’m not exaggerating. Portland doesn’t lack for eateries and watering holes. But with the crowd here tonight and the articles I read, this looks like making it. I take a sip of my ale and it’s really freaking good, so I’m sure that helps.

“The internet told me you were successful,” I say. “But you know what they say about believing everything you hear.”

He grins at that. “You looked me up.”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t a burglar since you know where I live.”

“Good thing I took ‘burglar’ out of my LinkedIn profile,” he says, tapping his temple.

I roll my eyes. “Please. Everyone lies on LinkedIn.”

He laughs, eyes sparkling. “Why wouldn’t I have burgled you last night if I were a burglar?”

“You could barely stand last night. But you could come back.”

“Right. Can never be too careful.” He tips his water glass to safety before sipping. The gulp I take of my beer is bigger.

“Seriously, though. Congratulations, Jamie. This is amazing.”

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