Page 36 of Fly Back to Me
“Ergo,” I say, peeking down to dig in the pocket of my coat, “I brought backup. I know it’s not oat milk, but beggars can’t be choosers.” I place the two tiny cartons of sealed milk on top ofthe cap, my fingers heating with the weight of his stare.
“It’s kind of strange for me to take this coffee from you when I don’t even know your name. Don’t you think?”
“Nope.”
Cade’s eyes park on mine, and I decide to end on this high note. Hammer the nail in the coffin as I retreat backward toward the glass double doors. “But if you’re gonna give the coffee to someone else, take the sleeve off. That’s for you.” I bite my lip, turning on my heel before I say or do something to weaken the leaps I just made with this beautiful man.
This man I’ve been yearning to meet for so, so long.
Chapter 15
Cade
Olivia
725 - 986 - 6348
Maybe sworn enemies should have each other’s numbers too.
I sink back into the leather of my desk chair, elbows propped on the arms as my thumbs graze my bottom lip. The last few minutes I spent examining the coffee sleeve were embarrassing, until I realized she wrote me a note on the inside. Nothing a quick snip with scissors couldn’t take care of.
She strolled through those doors like a goddamn twister, sucking me into a vortex of thoughts I can’t seem to outrun.
First, let’s address the fact that this woman sought me out, even after I was a complete dick to her. Second, let’s acknowledge the fact that she walked into my brewery looking like an absolute smoke show.
Those damn thigh-high boots were begging me to admire her, but thankfully, the new shipment of beers kept my eyesoccupied enough. There was this sneaky suspicion in the back of my mind that she was clawing for my attention. Not that she was dressed trashy or exposed in an indecent manner, but her outfit was definitely not the typical one for a casual afternoon. Unless she was going somewhere afterward with friends? That could be possible.
Very possible, actually.
Maybe she’s a gold digger. And now that she knows I’m a brewery owner, she’s trying to get me to put a ring on it. A little extreme, but one can never be too sure.
Either way I dice this scenario up, I’m involved with someone. My interest is just a knee-jerk reflex to the way me and Jenna are skating by these days. I’m sure if we were cruising on more stable terms, my head wouldn’t have been turned a millimeter in Olivia’s direction.
Olivia.
She keeps popping up into my life like one of those damn plastic moles in a whack-a-mole game. My eyes have studied her phone number about fifty times now, and I’m sure if I were asked to recite it by memory, I could without a stutter. But as much as I have the slightest intrigue to put this number to use, I won’t.
It’s unacceptable.
I sigh when I reach forward, tossing the coffee sleeve in the corner of my desk.
My palm covers the mouse to my computer, mind prepared to extinguish the latest fires that have flared up in the business lately. Because of shipping logistics and freight, the cost of supplies has increased. Now, I’m left to balance my books more frequently, making sure I have enough money to keep the brewery afloat.
As if all that wasn’t enough, I’ve had a couple delays in shipments, a bad batch brewed within the last week or two, andI’m just now tying up loose ends on those mishaps.
But a series of taps on my office door push my to-do list to the side.
I stand up, trekking over to the door before reaching for the knob. Jenna’s blue hues greet me on the other side of the threshold, her tight-lipped smile showcasing her routine apology. “Hey,” she says softly.
My mouth sculpts a flat smile, and I take the door with me so she can enter. “What’s up?”
Once she’s standing in the center of the office, I close the door and lift my snapback to surf a hand through my hair. “Are you busy? Can we talk?” she asks.
“I’m a little busy,” I say coolly, planting a palm on the door as I cross one foot in front of the other. “Doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”
My reassurance plucks a smirk from Jenna, but the sentiment never floods into her eyes. There’s this somber glow in them. A sadness I can’t quite place. And I can’t tell if it’s over the slow death of our relationship or her guilty conscience.
Her throat bobs, gaze targeting the wall to her left instead of me. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately. I have a lot going on in my head right now, and I guess I just don’t know how to handle my emotions and what I’m feeling.”
