Page 16 of Strike
“Callie,” he said, trying to start some kind of conversation. “Is that short for something?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s just Callie.”
We fell into an uneasy silence. I’d stewed over what I would say to him all day. I’d even taken notes to try to clear my mind, but now he was actually here in front of me, the easy conversation I’d dreamed of was non-existent. He didn’t seem to want to talk at all, or he was waiting for me to say the words I’d been so desperate to tell him.Thank you.
It was easy. Two little words.Just say it, Callie. I was crashing and burning, and where I should’ve been relaying gratitude, I was allowing my nervous energy to swallow me whole.
It was just…he was so handsome and brooding, and I was little Callie with her little smoldering mess of a cake shop. He was ripped—I could see the biceps on the guy, which meant the likelihood of a six-pack was rather high—so anything more than a ‘thanks for saving my life’ conversation was a long shot to hell.
I was soft around the edges. Guys like him didn’t go for squishy girls like me.
“Listen, I um… I thought about all these things I wanted to say, but now you’re here, I don’t have a clue,” I said, arming myself with the truth. “My post must’ve… Well, it must’ve been a whole bag of crazy. I’m surprised you wanted to meet me.”
“I almost didn’t come.”
My gaze met his.I knew it.
“Then why did you?” I asked, my fingers wiping at the condensation on the outside of my glass. “You almost got away with it.”
He didn’t reply. He just frowned broodingly.
“What’s your name? It’s not really Storm, right?”
He started picking at the label on his beer.
I wasn’t quite sure what I’d been expecting from tonight, but it wasn’t this. Evasive had nothing on his behavior right now. I felt like I was interrogating the guy. He’d said it himself. He almost didn’t come. Maybe he hadn’t had a clear view of my ass through the window, and that was why he stepped through the door.
Picking up my bag, I shoved down the disappointment that was beginning to overtake my tear ducts.
“You’re right,” I said. “This wasn’t a good idea.” He perked up, his eyes following my every move. “Thank you, Mr…”—I waved my hand at him with a scowl—“Storm,for saving my life. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” I rose to my feet.
“Mark,” he said. I froze, and he stared up at me, the sadness I’d seen in his gaze the night of the fire coming back to the surface. “My name is Mark.”
I didn’t know what to do, so I stood there and waited. Did he want me to stay? Was he actually going to talk? Did he want to know me? I wanted him to. I wanted things to flow both ways. The handsome stranger who saved my life.Mark.
“Please, sit down,” he said.
Returning my ass to the chair, I set my bag down for the third time that night.
“I, uh…” It was his turn to stumble over his words. “I live in the neighborhood,” he finally offered.
“You live around here?” I asked. “The rent must be killer.”
His eyes darted to the side. “It’s nothing special.”
“Was that how…” I glanced at my hands.
“I was on my way home,” he said. “I don’t know why I did it… Why I went in there.”
“I’m glad you did.” I raised my head and met his gaze.I could melt in those eyes.
“You bake cakes?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You’ve always wanted to do that?”
“Always. There’s something about mixing all those ingredients, you know? Creating something new, something tasty. Cakes are a celebration. They make people happy.”
