Page 49 of Fly Back to Me
It’s appalling.
So appalling.
But damn, does he look good cloaked in midnight.
I arch a brow, strolling toward him. “Good call. It’s disgusting.”
Notes of tobacco merge with his woody scent, Cade’s eyes pinning me over the cylindrical paper as he takes another drag.
The metal wings around his middle finger pair with the sight, and my displeasure kicks my hand into motion. My lips purse, fingers tearing the cigarette from him before putting it out underneath my boot. “Where’s the pack?” I demand.
Cade shoots a smirk as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I just told you I don’t smoke often.”
“Oh, you’re lying,” I scoff. “I saw you last weekend smoking in the parking lot outside your brewery. Don’t insult me.”
He lightly chuckles when he peels himself from the bike. “What? Now you’re just openly admitting you’re stalking me?”
My throat quivers as he invades my space, but my shoulder pops nonchalantly. “I happened to see you when I was waiting for my friend by the bathroom.”
“And today’s coffee run-in?” he retorts.
I open my mouth, peering at him through slitted eyes, but I click my teeth shut in the next breath. “Okay.MaybeI went to The Grind because I was hoping to see you, but I had no idea you were definitely going to be there.” His eyes flash with a pang of pleasure, spurring me on. “I would’ve made out well either way. Their coffee is amazing.”
His hands burrow in his jeans pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “How old are you, Olivia?”
“Twenty-six,” I say before flipping my palm up. “I want the pack of cigarettes.”
“I was having a bad night last Saturday,” he explains. “That’s the only reason you saw me with a cigarette.”
I nudge my palm forward. “I don’t care. Give me the pack.”
His chest bounces through a tickled grin. “What makes this so important to you?”
“I don’t want to see you harm yourself.”
“I could be a terrible person,” he quips, leaning in, “so what would it matter?”
“Youaren’t,” I grit out, my eyes practically tugging on those crystal blues.
He halts his next words, wiping a palm down his stubbled chin before he walks around me. “Who are you looking for?”
I spin in place, only to be met with his backside by the guardrail. “What are you talking about?”
His head peeks over his shoulder to respond, but his eyes never reach mine. “When we bumped into each other at The Grind—literally—I saw your Post-it.”
Words trap in my lungs, a shallow breath replacing them. My stomach ties into an aching knot, the only relief for it standing a few feet away from me.
Not just him.
His feelings.
I gulp past a tight lump, my eyes casting downward as my hands fiddle with each other. “Do you believe people cross paths for a reason?” I ask.
“I used to not believe so.”
My head perks up. “But now you do?”
His answer doesn’t grace my ears as quick as I want it to. The knot in my belly ravels tighter and tighter, the gentle bustling of the tree branches reminding me of the excruciating quiet.
