Page 34 of Fly Back to Me
While I was sitting up in bed last night, I clicked around my laptop, snooping for any social media accounts linked to Cade. Of course, there were no traces of him on any of the major platforms. I shouldn’t have figured otherwise to begin with, considering how impersonal he seems.
Proceeding to type the name of his brewery in the Google search engine, I was directed to the company website. Opening time for a Sunday was listed at twelve o’clock, so where else would I be parked in my Toyota Rav4 right now?
The damn TV movie can write itself.
I wasn’t even sure he’d be here, but since he’s the owner and it’s a weekend, I assumed there had to be a decent chance. Or I was just really praying good karma was on my side for once.
The sun rays reflect off the white fenders of his motorcycle stationed in front of the brewery. My belly flips as my eyes trace the details of the bike, every feature embedding deeper into my memory.
I squint, spotting the white feather whisking in the gentle wind. Warmth spreads over my heart as it dances below the chrome handlebar, and my reserve breaks.
I pop my eyes to the rearview mirror, adjusting my curtain bangs under my cream-colored beanie. Now, I’d never consider myself the overly confident type when it comes to men, nor do Ipursue them like this.
But this is different.
He broke the mold.
Conscious not to raise any red flags around him, I’ve waited until twelve-thirty to make my move. I figure a half hour grace period doesn’t categorize me as a stage-five stalker, but I also want to make sure there’s a scarce crowd.
I snatch the handle of my bag, tugging the car door lever in my opposite palm. When the door swings open, I step out on the blacktop, only to duck back inside to retrieve the cup of coffee I picked up from The Grind.
The heat of the drink radiates through the cardboard sleeve. I prop the bottom of my thigh-high suede boot on the door frame, kicking it shut before switching the coffee to the hand that’s holding my bag. I tug the hem of my white miniskirt, ensuring that the fitted, pink long-sleeve is neatly tucked inside.
Yeah, way overdressed.
When I walk through the brewery entrance, those same herbal and fruity notes from last night tickle my nose. My legs pause after a few steps, eyes traveling around to spot a couple at the far end of the bar and a few friends occupying a table in the middle of the floor.
My throat bobs, ears perking to every mumbled voice or clattering of glass. I guess Jake works night shifts since there’s a woman managing the bar, and honestly, the purple balayage looks really badass in her soft, black curls.
I wonder who her stylist is.
Olivia, focus.
I fold my bottom lip between my teeth, chest tightening as I search for a place to locate myself. Music softly drifts from the speakers, my window of opportunity narrowing if I don’t want to draw attention.
Just as I veer right, my pulse gallops when Cade slipsthrough the entry point at the far side of the bar. One arm is looped around a box braced on his shoulder, his torso flexing beneath the black, zip-up hoodie he’s wearing.
When he exits the opposite end, he crouches in front of the refrigerator display case. He’s idled on his haunches, his dark jeans meshing to his sculpted thighs as he starts to pluck the cans of beer from the cardboard.
I ingest a breath, willing my legs to travel me to him and make this first move. Or maybe to prevent the hot coffee from cooling too much.
That’s probably a better reason.
I pad along the refined concrete, finally sliding beside him. “Hey,” I greet cheerfully.
His head jerks up, one hand wrapped around a beer in the fridge with the other nestling a can in the box. “He—”
My stomach somersaults when those crystal-blue eyes latch onto me, his eyelids quickly dipping in curiosity. “I thought I’d offer a truce.” I purse my lips through a smirk, holding the coffee out to him.
His stare drops to the cup snuggled in my palm, lips curling up at the corner before he returns his attention to the fridge. “How much peroxide is actually in there?” he asks, lifting his backward snapback to scrub a hand through his hair.
Damn, okay.
As if I needed another reason to be smitten with this man.
I shrug playfully. “Only about a teaspoon. Nothing that’ll kill you.”
“Spill coffee on anyone today?” He grins as he continues to stock the fridge.
