Page 22 of Fly Back to Me
At least if I couldn’t hang out at Smooth Brew today, the next option doesn’t seem half bad.
Eventually, I idle behind the line of people at the order counter. Angling my chin up to read the menu, wafts of coffee beans and sweet treats dance under my nose. The ambient lighting injects a calmness, complementing the mumbled conversations and subdued music.
Once my order is ready, I slide onto a stool behind the counter against the rear window. I place the vanilla latte on thewhite quartz, a small smile creeping over my face as the foam art stares back at me.
At the surface, the tiny suds have morphed into the vanes of a feather.
I roll my shoulders, allowing my coat to drag down my arms, and a tender warmth wraps around me.
Like a cloak of armor.
Like somehow, my guardian angel sent me this little easter egg.
Reassurance that I’m going to be okay.
I’m safe.
Instinctively, my hand digs into my bag, retrieving my phone to hover the camera lens above the drink. My thumb taps the white circle on the screen, and I snap a photo of the foam art as a keepsake.
When I review the image, there’s sunlight filtering through the picture window in front of me. I swivel my body in the stool, my free palm forming a visor around the device when my knuckles collide with something solid.
Splashes of warm liquid sprout about, a few droplets landing on the black sleeve over my wrist. And to my dismay, the rest sprays the navy hoodie on the tall man standing over me.
“Shit,” he grits out, peering down at the mess I’ve created.
My cheeks flush with a blazing heat, mortified that the source of the liquid shower is the coffee cup he’s cuddling in his palm. I pop off the stool, holding out my hands as my eyes lock on the soaked fabric around his torso. A misfortune that I just caused.
Only me.
“Oh my god. I am so,sosorry,” I plead.
Streams of hot coffee decorate the outside of his white, plastic cup, dribbling onto the back of his hand as he suspends it away from him. The rear of his clean hand wipes his sweatshirt,and my gaze roams over his sun-kissed, corded forearm.
Thick veins and taut skin eat up my vision, my eyes dragging up to his dipped head. If we’re estimating, he must be at least six-foot-two or three.
Distressed silence hangs between us. My belly pitches in anticipation of his words, heart pumping wildly through my humiliation.
I drag my stare everywhere now, admiring the generous black and gray ink decorating his forearm attached to the hand holding his half-spilt drink. It seems that the tattoos extend to the back of his right hand, but it’s hidden behind the cup.
The hem of his hoodie is semi-tucked behind the black belt of his dark jeans. Denim that crumples just enough to spare room for his muscular physique but also hints at his lean build. My eyes trail farther down, catching the black, leather boots donning a few scuff marks on the toe portion.
“As long as you got your social media post in, right?” he retorts, a deep tenor grinding the shell of my ear.
Wait, what?
My puzzled eyes blink repeatedly, brows creasing when my gaze darts to his. “Excuse me?”
A pair of blue-gray eyes settles on me, and I almost forget what we’re discussing. He’s absolutelystriking. Thick, dark hair styled haphazardly on top, with a stubbled and accentuated jawline around full, peach lips. An oxymoron in human form if I ever saw one.
“Oh, my bad,” he tosses mockingly. His free fingers touch his temple as if he should know better, his sarcasm as cool as a cucumber. “I should’ve been more mindful of things taking place on your phone instead of where I was walking.”
“Fine, I get it,” I assert, whirling to gesture to my phone resting on the counter. “But you didn’t have to chuck that crappy comment at me. You have no idea what I was doing.” A sigh slipsfrom my mouth when I turn back to face him. “Look, I’ll buy you a new one. What was it?”
He steps forward to reach for the napkin dispenser with a cynical smirk, his stare never leaving mine as his arm curls around me. “I’ll just take this. Thanks.”
I ignore his woody musk—something between outdoorsy and spicy. My stomach flips, but I’m ready to match his attitude when he steps back.
Just as he did before, I place my fingers to my temple, sarcasm dripping from me as I feign an epiphany. “Wow, you know what’s crazy? If you just accepted my apology from the beginning, you could’ve stopped talking to me two minutes ago.” Then I pop my shoulders with attitude. “But I guess you’ll never amount to anything more than being a jerk. How sad.”
