31. Caden
Caden
The moment she opens the door, every doubt about going to this awards dinner is washed away.
So is every coherent thought, too.
“Wow,” is all I manage to say.
She blushes, pursing her red-painted lips, glancing down at her dress.
“Am I overdressed? I’ve never been to a cocktail event.” Her green eyes meet mine, impossibly long eyelashes batting.
I shake my head, jamming my hands in my pockets.
“No, no.” I clear my throat. “You look great, Fia.”
She dips her head and smiles, tucking her long curled hair behind her ears. “Thank you, you clean up well too.” She gestures to my custom-tailored navy suit, complete with new leather shoes.
I even ironed the white shirt underneath.
“Ready?” I ask, and lead Fia out to the driveway. Every step feels like a slow-motion film. The sound of her heels on the stone walkway, the smell of her jasmine perfume filling the evening air, the silence between us full of small smiles and stolen glances.
“Wow, you even put the roof and doors back on.” Fia raises her brows as I open the car door for her.
“I did.” I smirk, looking at the car. “I’m a man of detail.”
“Huh,” she replies, just watching me, and I shut the door, collecting myself with a slow walk around the Jeep before I join her in the cab.
Fia fills me in on her day at the beach with her family as we drive into town, and I don’t say much in response.
I’m happy to just hear her talk. The conversation is easy and casual, but it’s not until we get to the venue that I realize she’s clutching her hands together, playing with the stack of gold rings on her fingers.
Something I notice she does when she’s nervous.
I attempt to rack my brain for something to say to soothe her nerves, but the valet nods at me as we pull up, and I hand my keys over with haste, immediately bringing my attention back to Fia.
There’s only one mission for me tonight—to make sure she enjoys this event, without nerves. I extend a hand, helping her out of the Jeep as she holds up her green dress.
Guests clad in suits and dresses walk past us, heels clicking up the stone steps through the large double doors. I know there’re eyes on me, but I ignore them all and lead Fia by the elbow off to the side of the entrance.
“Hey, if at any point you’re not enjoying yourself, say the word and we’ll get out of here. Deal?” I whisper, and she glances up at me. There’s a slight pause, like she’s trying to figure me out, but then she nods, her lips pulled to the side.
“Deal.”
More people file into the venue than I anticipated. Local politicians shake hands with other big players in the town. Business owners chat with eager smiles, and in the distance of the marble-floored ballroom, I spot the journalist who conducted the interview at Good Grinds.
“Caden Brooks.” I turn at the sound of a voice that’s eerily familiar. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you!”
My father’s former board member places her hand on my upper arm, flashing a fake grin with teeth a shade too bright.
My jaw tightens, in only slight disbelief that she has the audacity to greet me like we are old friends, considering her affair with my father almost destroyed my family. Though, she’s only half to blame.
“Darcy,” I bite out, sipping my bourbon.
My gaze flits over her shoulder, searching for a green silky dress.
When my eyes land on Fia, she is talking to someone I don’t recognize. She's radiant, with a smile stretched wide across her face, and instantly I know I made the right choice bringing her tonight. This girl was made to be the life of the party. My counterpart in every way.
She catches my gaze just as Darcy pulls me back into the conversation with a boisterous laugh over something I missed.
Darcy steps back, hand over chest. “I am the director of Wilmington Life now,” she says, almost giddy, like I should congratulate her. She got what she wanted out of my father—a hush money settlement—and now she has a cushy new job.
I throw back the rest of my bourbon.
“Hey there, I am so sorry to interrupt.” Fia slides right in between Darcy and me, flashing a bright smile. “Caden—the photographer was looking for you.” She widens her eyes at me. “I promised her I’d bring ya on over!”
“Excuse us,” I say, avoiding looking at Darcy as I leave her standing there alone.
Fia’s fingers wrap around my elbow gently, dragging me behind her, straight through the gaggles of mingling people holding cocktails. She doesn’t stop until we are in an empty side corridor. It’s quiet and I can finally exhale.
There’s no photographer out here—but I knew that.
Fia giggles, clocking me up and down. “Figured you needed to be saved.” She shrugs easily, sucking down her fruity drink through two black straws. “Who was that woman anyway?”
I wave it off. “No one important . . . and thank you.”
“Anytime, Brooks. That’s what I’m here for. To save you from talking to people since you hate everyone,” she jokes, throwing her head back as she laughs, lighting up this entire marble corridor, but I barely crack a smile as my eyes remain on her.
“I don’t hate everyone,” I respond, my brow furrowing despite trying to match her lighthearted attitude.
I don’t hate you.
Fia points to her drink and steps towards me, close enough for me to see the gold specks swirling in those green irises.
“Hey, have you ever tried sangria?” she asks, rolling her eyes back. “It’s so good!”
Now I do laugh, and warmth ripples through my chest. She doesn’t step back but I lift my chin at her empty glass.
“No, I don’t drink that sweet shit. But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Oblivious to how close we are, Fia pats the front of my jacket and flips her hair over her shoulder.
“I am, this is really fun.” Her eyes sparkle and she backs up, mouth in an O. “Oh my god—did you see the dessert table?” She pinches her fingers together in the air inches from my face. “They have these mini cheesecakes, and holy shit, I’m thinking about stealing the whole tray.”
With my hand on my belly, I shake my head, smiling at her.
“You are too easy to impress.”
Fia scoffs, stepping back with her arms crossed over her chest. “They are miniature cheesecakes. They are adorable. Don’t you rain on my parade, Caden Brooks.”
“I would never dream of it,” I reply, and an announcer’s muffled voice says something about taking your seat, and we both turn to head back into the main room.As we leave the corridor with my hand on the small of her back, I instinctually glance over my shoulder, making sure no one sees us.
Fia’s palpable joy is making this night more bearable, but in the back of my head, there’s still a nagging sensation.
There’s still something telling me I can’t be with her, not in the way I want.
I go to sip my drink, to wash away the thought, but it’s empty.
Fia leads us to our table because naturally she already had it figured out. We’re seated with other Wilmington business owners, all who are energized by tonight and eager to chat.
Lucky for me, I barely have to open my mouth. Fia is more than happy to jump right in to answer questions, and by the time I’ve finished my salad, the entire round table is enamored by her.
I lean back, watching her, and before I know it, it’s nearly the end of the dinner.
Another announcer is met with applause as she struts across the spotlit stage, a table full of crystal trophies next to her. Names are called: Best Restaurant, Best Boutique Hotel, Best Bookstore, etc.
When they call my name for Good Grinds, without realizing what I’m doing, I reach for Fia’s hand, pulling her up from her seat.
“Come with me, this is yours too,” I whisper, and Fia doesn’t resist.
She places the award between us at the table, and when dinner and dessert are wrapped, I fish in my pocket for the valet ticket. “So how was your first event?” I joke.
Fia stands, a grin still painted on her face, and grabs the award, following me to the curb outside.
“It was incredible. I can’t believe you wanted to miss it!” She taps my shoulder playfully, and a laugh shakes my ribs as I hand the ticket to the valet.
“I mean seriously, I got to wear this—” She twirls in her green silk dress, which hugs her every curve. “I got free steak and lobster, and several of whatever that drink was.” She kisses her fingertips. “Chef’s kiss.”
“So you’re a sangria girl?” I ask, and it comes out flirtier than intended.
“I guess I am.” Fia leans her arm on the lamppost next to us as other guests spill out of the venue.
Our eyes linger on each other for a beat too long.
Fia straightens up. “I don’t normally drink, but I figured what the hell, if I was going to try something, tonight would be the night.
” She hiccups and covers her mouth, cheeks flushed pink.
“Are you drunk?” I scoff teasingly, leaning down towards her as the lights of my Jeep come into view.
“Nope.” Fia pops her lips open. “I am simply high on life. You should try it sometime.” She winks at me before climbing into the car.
Yeah, she’s definitely drunk.
“You ready to head home then?” I ask, pulling out of the lot.
“No, please don’t take me home!” She pouts. “It’s only nine PM, and I don’t have to worry about a toddler tonight.”
I want to ignore her, tell her she’s drunk, make her go home and sleep it off, but I can’t bring myself to do that, because the inside of the car smells like my cologne and her perfume, and there’s an energy buzzing between us that’s too loud to ignore even if it feels like a road to trouble.
“You want to go get ice cream?” I ask because it’s the first thing I can think of.
“Duh,” Fia responds, before turning up the volume on the stereo. It’s some Taylor Swift song, and she’s belting it, the window down, warm night air blowing her hair around like ripples of fire.
I shake my head, running my palm over the stubble on my face, wondering how she’s been right under my thumb this whole time and I didn’t notice.
It feels like a crime.