Page 89 of Fly Back to Me
“Sounds good. I’ll be on the floor in a minute to mellow out the influx of people before I leave.” Then I rotate in place to point to my desktop behind me. “Just had to respond to emails from suppliers in California and Colorado. I’m trying to get as many ingredients from the West Coast as I can.”
“Awesome. What ingredients are you ordering?”
“Citra, Mosaic, and Simcoe,” I answer. “A lot of customers have been asking for citrusy beers, so I figured I’d balance out the piney selection that we already have from the East Coast.”
“Right on. Hopefully that brings in new patrons. Not that business has been slow or anything,” Jake says.
I sigh, lifting my backward snapback to run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, that’s the goal. My biggest fear is plateauing in sales.” When I drag my attention back to him, my index finger gestures in his direction. “Always be on the defensive. Business management one-oh-one.”
Jake flashes a crooked grin. “I’ll keep that in mind when I open my own bar.”
I smile before turning around, the door closing behind me when I shut the computer down. All the while thinking how this brewery is starting to feel like a business.
Not my second home.
Chapter 33
Olivia
Thick and gray clouds layer the sky when my Rav4 rolls over the gravel of the driveway. The two-story cottage is propped on a subtle hill, quintessentially quaint with a wrap-around porch and gable-end roof. White pine trees scarcely line the perimeter of the house, a few of them clustered in the rear yard beyond the PVC fence.
My sneaker completely descends on the brake, and I park before turning the car off. I brush my fingers through my long, soft waves, sinking into the leather seat as my eyes catch the navy farmhouse-style door.
This is so him.
Nothing over the top in appearance, but the craftsman detail on the roof and porch columns hint at an intricacy.
I pull my visor down, ensuring my mascara hasn’t smeared, only to dip my chin toward my ribbed long-sleeve. My fingers trail the buttons from the neckline to the hem, checking that allare fastened before he has to point it out to me.
When I flip the shade up, my palms grip the steering wheel as my throat tenses. My gaze locks on the front door again, and as thrilled as I am that Cade will be greeting me on the other side of it, I feel stripped naked.
Bare of my confidence.
Normally, my calculated moves have provided me an upper hand, so to speak. Knowing exactly what I wanted to do and how I was going to execute my initiatives. But as my eyes hang onto the sidelights of the door frame, I realize I’m in his domain now.
Am I still calling the shots?
I’m not so sure.
In the next breath, the navy door swings open before Cade’s strolling onto the elevated porch. His perfect smile beams from his rugged jaw, his dark hair peeking from his backward snapback as he walks down the stone steps.
I smile at him through the glass, turning to grab my belt bag to exit the car. As soon as my sneakers crunch the gravel, Cade’s inching closer with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets.
My palm swings the car door shut, cheeks pinching from my growing smile as I say, “Your house is beautiful.”
He idles in front of me as he coolly shrugs. “It’s not for everyone, but I like it.”
I pivot my attention to the cottage, gesturing my hand over the view. “What’s not to like?”
My heart leaps when he cradles my cheek in his palm, and he steals a gentle kiss. His shabby skin grates me, the contact blooming warmth inside me, and my throat finally loosens. “I don’t know,” he murmurs as he straightens up. “Two bedrooms. A bathroom and a half.” Then he takes my hand to walk us to the house. “A wood burning stove for heat. Not a ton of square footage.” We reach the front door, and he swivels around as he opens it. “Some people like quantity and big, expensive houses.I’m more of a quality guy, I suppose.”
The crook of my mouth lifts when our hands fall from each other, and I step into the foyer. “I like that you are,” I say.
The smell of mahogany and teakwood swirls around me as I step along the tile, Cade following suit. A half-closed door on my right peeks into his office, but as we pad farther into the amber-lit hallway, we reach an eat-in table at the end.
“I’ve got something for you,” he admits, circling the furniture.
I halt, eyes swerving to the rustic wood cabinets and black countertops at my right, only to redirect to Cade. He swipes something off the table—something wrapped in brown parchment paper and white ribbon.
