Chapter 16Olivia
Olivia
I guess my first impression wasn’t as memorable as I thought.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been preoccupied with my phone, silently willing it to show me an unknown number on the home screen.
But my quiet wishes continue to remain unanswered—the most I’ve heard from Cade being mere recaps of our conversation in his brewery.
I was outgoing, flirty, witty, and dressed for the part. What could I have done differently?
I’m staring daggers at my computer screen at work, conscious to create the illusion that I’m recording and categorizing expenses. But even that’s a generous description.
My elbow leans on the desk, the tip of my thumb lodged between my teeth as I consider my next move with Cade. It’s Friday now—almost a week since I last spoke to him—so I’d say that’s a decent intermission period.
Lauren truly thinks I’ve gone off the deep end, and maybe she’s right.
Maybe I have. But even so, I don’t care or bat an eyelash at the revelation.
This desire to get to know Cade is too powerful to terminate.
Inevitable. Like my mind has been possessed with a new purpose, and I’m looking at my life through a fresh lens.
My mind is steadily losing the ability to filter irrational thought, and my body moves in sync with the madness. As if it’s just along for the ride.
Suddenly, my hand reaches for my phone next to the keyboard.
Me: What are my chances of bumping into him at The Grind tomorrow?
Lauren: Oh, yes, let me just pull Cade’s social calendar out of my ass. How the fuck would I know?
Me: I’ll take those odds.
Lauren: You’re lucky you’re cute.
Me: Be prepared for pjs, wine, and venting sessions tonight on our couch ;)
Lauren: I was born ready.
I roll my phone over on my desk, snapping myself back to reality. My eyes continue to linger over the bright screen in front of me, the images blending as my mind travels elsewhere for the rest of the workday.
The light breeze has me tugging my open shacket across my chest. My Chelsea boots pause on the sidewalk, the white Harley under the lamppost robbing all my concentration. I consider walking back the way I came, but the dangling white feather reminds me of all the reasons I’m here.
I enter The Grind, nutty hints greeting me under the amber globes of light. Within five minutes, I order my cinnamon dolce latte and cinnamon roll, only to spin around and discreetly scope out the tables.
There he is.
Tucked in the same corner he sat the first time we met.
Sparks of electricity snap under my flesh when I spot one black boot propped on the windowsill.
His palm cradles a cup of coffee atop the denim hugging his thigh, and I catch the red and black checkered flannel buttoned over his torso.
The sleeves are cuffed up his forearms, and in his free hand, his thumb taps his phone screen.
Immediately, the voltage rapidly fizzles out underneath my skin.
This is absolutely absurd.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to contact me. If he did, my phone would be vibrating with a text or call from him right now. I mean, he’s literally sitting here on the very device that serves to communicate with people.
This is fucking stupid, Liv.
But I didn’t come here for nothing.
Quenching my nerves with my jaw, I turn and wait for the barista to shout my order. My latte and cinnamon roll are placed on the white quartz within the next minute, and before I can cower, I surrender the reins to my body.
With my coffee cup and brown bag in one hand, I maneuver through the tables and chairs until I’m in front of Cade’s. “If you’d like company, I’m a pretty good friend.” I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
When his eyes bounce up, they mildly hood as the barest smile graces the crook of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that. You think I’m an asshole and still bought me a coffee.”
“Or maybe I’m just a devoted pacifist when it comes to you.”
“Ouch. Am I that hostile?” he asks, his gaze lowering to his phone while sipping his coffee.
“Let’s see,” I demand, dropping the small bag on the table. “Can I sit here?”
Like clockwork, his attention snaps back to me through arched brows. I mimic his expression in a dare to shoo me away, but those blue-gray irises release the damn butterflies inside me again. Fluttering recklessly until they’re threatening to tip me over.
A breathy laugh oozes from him, head pivoting to the window as he drops his boot from the sill to pocket his phone. “Somehow, I don’t think my answer matters.”
I wag my head, my pride too precious to completely let go of. “Don’t flatter yourself too much. I won’t sit if I’m not wanted.”
Cade leans forward, lifting the coffee to his lips in his tattooed hand. “The seat is yours.”
I lower myself into the chair, my eyes meeting his as I draw a sip of my latte. The sweet and spicy blend melts inside my mouth, heating my belly in tandem with his charmed stare. “Are you working tonight?” I ask, licking my lips as I place my cup on the table.
He abandons his drink, raising his hand so that his knuckles rest on his stubbled cheek. “I’m always working,” he answers, my heart rate dashing when my gaze flicks to the metal wings around his middle finger. “But if you’re asking if I’m going to be at the brewery, then yes.”
His clarification sends my hope soaring. He didn’t have to explain any further than the first part of his response, but his elaboration kicks my confidence into high gear.
I dig my hand into the brown bag, removing my cinnamon roll to take a bite. A tiny crumb sticks to my lip gloss, my eyes meeting his as I use my index finger to push the sweet scrap through my lips.
And just when Cade’s stare lowers to my mouth, I continue, “You look young to be a brewery owner.” Then I suck the tip of my forefinger to lick the brown sugar remnants.
Cade’s eyes shy away, his thumb aimlessly stroking his jawline with a hesitant smile. “I’m old enough.”
I’m affecting him.
I lift a brow, waving a hand as I drawl, “And you are …”
“Twenty-nine,” he answers, his gaze returning to mine. “Almost thirty.”
I playfully roll my eyes. “Not young at all to own a business.” Continuing my little show, I break off a piece of my bun, sliding the sugary dough between my lips. When my fingers retreat, I mildly suck the tiny fragments of the pastry as seamlessly as before.
Cade shifts on an inhale, grabbing his coffee as he sinks back into the built-in bench. “You should probably try cinnamon beer. Might turn you into a full-fledged enthusiast.”
Bingo.
I smile, picking up my latte to fall back in the chair. Angling my posture just right, I tastefully poke out the swell of my assets in the fitted top under my shacket. “Be careful. If you added that to your menu, you’d make me a regular customer,” I tease before tasting my drink.
“Is that a bad thing?” Cade asks.
I shrug. “You tell me.”
“My business is new. Regular and willing customers are always welcome.”
“Ah,” I nod through a teasing grin. “So, you would just use me for business.”
His eyes hood, chin gently tilting up as a couple black tendrils slap the top of his forehead. Slightly curled and careless.
Fucking beautiful.
“You make it sound like I should be using you for something else.”
His sexual undertone reignites the electric spark from before, my skin flushing pink. “I’m just making conversation,” I feign innocence.
He wets his peach lips. Then his inked hand scrubs through his locks as he leans over the table again. “The way you make conversation is a little forward, no?”
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” I volley back.
He barely shakes his head. “I wouldn’t use that word.”
I place my coffee cup on the quartz, laying my palms on my jean-clad thighs to straighten up. “What word would you use?”
For a few silent beats, his icy-blue eyes carefully roam my face. They give nothing away. “Frustrated.”
“Maybe you should stop being so closed off then,” I challenge.
“Maybe I should walk you to your car,” he suggests quickly.
My skin cools at his eagerness to get rid of me, but I figure I can’t throw all my tricks at him at once.
We both stand, and once he swipes his coat off the Tiffany blue bench, we weave between the tables and chairs to the exit. “I’m just going to leave a note. You can go ahead,” I say before chucking my trash away.
I reach the “Hello Board,” smirking when the black leather of his jacket wanders around my periphery. And if I didn’t want to climb him like a tree before, I sure as hell do now.
He’s waiting anyway.
It’s the small gestures that matter.
Within a few minutes, my scribbled message is tacked on the cork board before I turn to him with a cheeky smile.
And then I disappear out the glass doors.