Page 1 of Fly Back to Me
Prologue
“Don’t forget to read the message at the bottom.”
I smile as I extract the stainless-steel ring from the velvet slot, examining the metal wings between my thumb and forefinger. My grin widens across a few silent moments, and then I’m placing the jewelry on the table to lift the insert in the gift box.
The end of one story is the beginning of a new one.
Wings symbolize the ability to fly.
But do they always fly you to the destination you were meant for?
I guess time will tell.
Chapter 1
Cade
Chasing a dream is just like riding a motorcycle—thrilling, terrifying, and there’s always someone who thinks you’ve lost your damn mind.
My gloved palm twists the throttle, the engine growling beneath me before the rumble parallels the pulse in my chest. The crisp air bites into my leather coat, wafts of asphalt lingering around me as I stare through the tinted visor.
“Hard Row” by The Black Keys hums through the AirPod in my right ear. I lean into the curve, snugly gripping the handlebars to maintain balance. Amber leaves line the two-lane road, a navy wooden sign appearing between tall, weathered oak trees.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth when I catch the name of the next town—Stardust Cove—etched in a silver script. Sure, maybe the thrill of riding a motorcycle comes with risk. Even a breath of hesitation can send you skidding. But the destination?
That’s always worth the rocky ride.
Five minutes later and I’m straddling my stationed Harley in front of the large, russet brick building.Myrusset brick building.
I strip my helmet, tucking my AirPod away before my fingers readjust my Suddora bandana. When I hang the headgear on the chrome bar, I swing a leg over my bike before my heavy boots tread the concrete walkway.
Once I enter through the glass doors, the piney aroma hits me as I shrug off my jacket. My eyes catch Jenna’s idled form in the middle of the room, the admiration on her face keeping me smiling. It’s all I can stand before I toss my coat on a random chair and pad the distance to her.
Jenna yelps when I snake an arm around her from behind to spin the both of us. “Ahh! Babe, you’ve officially gone crazy!” she shouts through a fit of laughter.
As fucking adorable as her giggling escapade is, I decide to have mercy on her.
When Jenna’s shoes touch the polished concrete, my hands find her waist. Her scrubs crinkle in my grip, and I peer down at her with a shit-eating grin. “This is fucking wild,” I breathe out.
Her palms travel to the sides of my face, silky skin caressing my stubbled jaw. “Chrome Pipes Brewing. The beer alone may be tasty, but the owner provides a huge bonus to the experience.”
I jerk my brows to play her game. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Jenna smirks as she lifts onto the toes of her white sneakers. “Because the owner is one fine piece of eye candy,” she murmurs, brushing the tip of her nose against mine.
I grin as I nudge her back, only to steal a quick kiss from her lips. Her laughter bounces off the reclaimed brick wall, and then I’m swiveling us around so I’m hugging her from behind.
We remain still, my eyes trapping the sweeping chrome exhaust pipes that have the name of my brewery embedded on the inside—Chrome Pipes Brewing.
I’m content knowing I’m staying true to who I am and paying homage to the steppingstones that led me here. I know it sounds a little cliché and typical for a motorcycle enthusiast, but riding is a part of who I am. There’s nothing compared to the feeling of cruising on the open road, especially when there are some wild views along the Rhode Island coastline to appreciate.
Chrome Pipes Brewing opens in about two months. Overall, I’d say my industrial interpretation was executed almost identically to what I drew up in my brain.
The brewery is a restored warehouse space with exposed roof drains and skylights. Low pendant light fixtures dangle above the Irish-pub-style bar and farmhouse-style tables. Considering all the sweat and stress it took to get here, I’m satisfied it wasn’t for nothing.
I briefly pull away to retrieve my vibrating phone from my jeans pocket. But just as I’m about to ignore the text notification, Mike Riley’s name pops up on the screen.
Mike: Interested in grabbing a few beers tonight? I figured we should celebrate.
