Chapter 2
Axel
By the time I finally step through the doors at Slade Brewing Company headquarters, fifteen minutes late, I barely register the clock. My brain’s stuck replaying dark hair in a messy bun and the way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes when I picked up my drink yesterday.
Her hair was pulled up, but I couldn’t stop picturing it down, messy around her throat, my fingers buried in it while she tried to look away.
I still feel the charge from her glancing past me yesterday—one flick of those eyes and I was hard, no goddamn reason for it except her.
I keep telling myself this isn’t obsession, but my body’s already decided otherwise.
“Look what the wind blew in,” Tyler calls from his desk as I weave through the open office. He’s buried in spreadsheets, perfectly dressed, with that smug look that makes me itch to mess up his tie.
“Nice of you to join the land of the employed today.”
Dropping into the chair, I shoot Tyler a look. “Some of us require a little more beauty sleep.” My voice has more bite than usual, and I know it. I’m thinking about Sadie, her mouth, how fast she’d shut me down if I ever tried that charm on her.
Tyler squints at me over his monitor. “You look more like you got run over by a moral crisis—or a truck. Everything okay?”
“Never better.” I flash him my signature grin. “Just marinating on the new seasonal brew. Important beer thoughts rattling around up here.” I tap my temple.
He’s not buying it. “Right. Suddenly passionate about quarterly projections?”
“I contain multitudes, brother.” Leaning back, I prop my feet on his desk. “Maybe I’m finally embracing my role as the mature Slade.”
Tyler bursts out laughing, and I half grin at the dent to my pride.
“What’s so funny?” Trent’s deep voice booms as he strides in, drink in hand, looking every inch the CEO in his tailored shirt.
“Axel here thinks he’s turning responsible,” Tyler explains.
Trent studies me for a beat. “Is that why you’ve checked your phone six times since you walked in? Who’s got you scheduling like you actually own a calendar?”
My hand comes down hard as I drop my phone face down. Damn. “No one. Just waiting on that distributor call from Boulder.”
“The same one you said, quote, ‘could wait until hell freezes over’?” Trent arches an eyebrow.
“I’m always like this,” I protest, though even to my ears it’s thin.
“Never like this,” Tyler corrects, dropping the teasing tone. “Seriously, Ax. What’s up?”
Swiveling toward the window, I buy time.
There’s no way to explain this without sounding insane.
I’ve met hundreds of women, flirted with most. But something about Sadie Calloway and those ten-foot-high walls around her has lodged under my skin and refuses to budge.
It’s not just the way she moves with tight, efficient grace, like she’s carved out of tension.
It’s the way her ass shifts under those faded jeans, how her hips sway even when she’s fighting it.
I catch myself thinking about what she’s hiding under all that armor, how she’d look stripped down, open, just for me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just didn’t sleep well. The ranch house creaks like a haunted ship, and I might be slightly allergic to responsibility. You know how it is.”
Tyler watches me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. But if you need to talk, about whatever’s really going on, I’m here.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I insist, just as my phone buzzes with a Pike’s Perk notification: drink ready for pickup. My hand shoots out, snatching it up too fast, fingers tight around the device.
Trent and Tyler exchange a look. I pretend not to see it.
“Meeting in twenty,” Trent says, mercifully changing the subject. “Try to look like you care about the spring lineup.”
Once they’re gone, the notification stares up at me. I already had a cup this morning, no real need for another. But the idea of seeing Sadie again, of maybe cracking a real smile from behind her professional mask…
My chest tightens, a restless buzzing under my ribs. My knee starts bouncing, energy with nowhere to go. Fun Slade isn’t supposed to get wired over a woman pouring lattes.
I’m the guy people come to for a good time, not the guy who obsesses over some café owner like a goddamn stalker.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way Sadie braces herself, guarded, like she’s daring someone to try her.
Makes me want to be the one who gets under her skin, who finds out what it takes to make her fall apart.
Yet here I am.
Ordering coffee I don't need. Showing up at the same time every goddamn day like I'm punching a clock, except the only thing I'm clocking is whether she'll look at me for longer than two seconds before she remembers she doesn't want to. I shouldn’t care less, but every time she hands a cup to someone else, my jaw tightens. I want her attention on me—her eyes, her smile, all of it mine. Doesn’t matter that I’m a stranger.
I want to be the only one she notices. Anyone else getting her smile feels like a personal offense.
I don’t get rattled by women. Ever. But every time I think about her, it’s like something sharp’s working under my skin.
I’m not proud of how much control I’ve lost. Never let anyone see it.
If the guys saw me like this, they’d never let me live it down.
So I keep it locked up tight, the want, need and frustration—all of it hidden where nobody can see.
I don't lie awake running through a thirty-second interaction like there's something in it I missed.
Except apparently I do all of those things now. Apparently my whole personality just quietly took a hard left turn and didn't bother to tell me.
It pisses me off how much I want to break through those walls like it’s a fucking challenge, and I’ve never walked away from one of those in my life.
She’s got barriers stacked to the ceiling, a kid on her hip, and still I want her looking at me, thinking about me, coming undone for me.
Her signals scream “keep out,” but all I hear is “work harder.” I'm choosing to find it interesting instead of discouraging, which probably says something unflattering about me.
To see if I can read past that armor. To see if there’s even a chance she might look right at me and find something worth her time.
My head drops into my hands, palms pressing into my eyes until stars spark there. The air feels thick, sticky in my lungs. This is supposed to be simple. Easy breezy family-business Axel, not this keyed-up idiot timing his morning around a stranger’s half smile.
The plan was simple: help with the family business, have fun, keep it light.
There’s nothing light about the way my pulse spikes every time her name crosses my mind, and I have zero clue what the hell to do with that.
I yank my jacket from the back of my chair and head for the door. I’m nearly out when Tyler’s voice stops me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Pivoting with as much nonchalance as I can fake, I shrug. “Just stepping out for a bit. Got an errand.”
Tyler arches an eyebrow. “An errand? Since when do you run errands mid–workday?”
“Since I graduated to responsible adulthood,” I reply, patting my pockets for keys. “And since I need a cup that doesn’t taste like Trent’s last-minute brew.”
“You literally just had coffee,” Tyler points out, folding his arms. “And we’ve got a meeting in fifteen.”
“I’ll be back,” I promise. “Just need fresh air. The creative process, you know? Can’t rush genius.”
Trent rounds the corner, perfect timing, of course. “Genius, huh? Who are we talking about?”
Tyler jabs a thumb at me. “Axel’s ditching content prep for an ‘errand.’”
Trent’s grin spreads. “An errand at a certain café, by any chance?”
A hot prickle climbs the side of my neck, heat pooling at my collar. “I have zero clue what you mean,” I lie.
Tyler leans in. “Dude, you’re blushing. Since when do you blush?”
“It’s the lights,” I snap, dragging a hand over my jaw. “You two keep talking and the place heats up with bullshit.” My patience is short, and I don’t bother hiding it. Let them push. I’m already thinking about other things—her, the curve of her mouth when she’s trying not to smile.
Trent laughs. “He’s got it bad. Look at him, hands twitching, leg bouncing.”
“I’m vibrating with annoyance,” I shoot back. “Can’t a man get a drink without an inquisition?”
“Not when you’ve checked your phone a dozen times and keep staring at the food app,” Tyler says flatly.
My throat works around a hard swallow. He doesn’t miss a damn thing.
“You’re acting weird,” Tyler adds, his tone shifting.
Trent chimes in before I can respond. “No, man, he’s acting romantic. Our Axel’s growing up.”
“I’m just un-caffeinated,” I retort, pointing at both of them. “Go live your lives.”
I edge toward the door like I’m testing an electric fence.
“Meeting in fifteen,” Tyler calls after me. “Don’t be late.”
“Bring a muffin!” Trent shouts.
I flip them off without turning, but their laughter trails me out.
In my truck, I bow my head against the wheel.
The leather’s cool under my forehead, but my skin still feels too hot, stretched tight.
They’re right, that’s the worst part. The usual easygoing hum inside me’s gone, replaced by this restless, electric thrum.
I actually want her to notice me again. I want to see her eyes flick up, startled, then light when she realizes I exist, even if it’s irritation sparking there.
I start the engine.
Fine. Face it, Axel, your whole morning just rearranged itself around Sadie’s reaction.
Pulling out of the lot, I check my watch. If I hustle, I can get to Pike’s Perk and back before the meeting. Not that I’d ever admit I’m doing this for the rare, genuine smile that slips across her face when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking.
Except that’s exactly what I’m doing, and I can’t even pretend I’m ashamed.
I slide into a spot in Pike’s Perk’s lot and kill the engine. My phone buzzes: Order ready for pickup. My thumb taps it automatically, and my gaze snags on my reflection in the rearview, eyes a little too bright, jaw a little too tight.
"It’s just coffee," I mutter at my own reflection but it does little good. "You’re losing your mind over a woman who hasn’t smiled at you once." I scrub a hand over my jaw. "Get your shit together."
My reflection keeps staring back at me with that look, the one that says I already know exactly what I'm doing and I'm doing it anyway. Which is true. Which is the part I don't love.
With every step toward Pike’s Perk, my body tightens.
My forearms, jaw, something lower and harder that has no business waking up this early.
The second I see her through the glass, everything else fades away.
Just her, those legs, that ass, the way her back holds tension like she’s waiting for a fight.
I want to see her lose that control, right in front of me.
Behind the counter, Sadie moves like a metronome.
Dark hair in that familiar messy bun, though one loose strand brushes the graceful curve of her neck each time she turns.
Shadows bruised under her eyes, her jaw locked so hard the muscle there flexes with whatever she’s biting back.
She passes a cup to an older man with a quick, efficient smile that disappears the instant he turns away.
Her gaze sweeps the room, shoulders squared, spine straight, already braced for whatever might land in front of her.
The air around her reads like a do-not-cross line, rigid and deliberate.
I hold my breath.
She turns to hand off an order and that loose strand of hair swings with her, brushing the side of her neck, and I watch her reach up to tuck it back without breaking stride.
My eyes track down before I can stop them.
The line of her shoulders. The way her shirt pulls across them when she reaches.
She's not tall but she takes up space like she is, all that coiled tension making her seem bigger, more present than the room she's standing in.
Her hands move fast and certain over the machine, and I think about those hands in a way I've got no business thinking about them.
I press my palm flat against the cold glass of the window and tell myself to get it together.
It doesn't work.
The want is sharp, physical—a punch right to the gut and lower.
Gets worse every time she moves, every time I imagine what she’d sound like saying my name.
It’s been years since I’ve wanted a woman this bad, bad enough to lose sleep, bad enough to feel it every time I shift in my seat.
I’m not leaving until I get what I came for, though, a flicker of attention, a crack in that armor, something just for me.
I want to see a real smile. Not the professional, hollow grin she plasters on for customers.
I’ve cataloged every version of that one and none of them reach her eyes.
I want the real thing, the kind that probably sneaks up on her when she's not guarding against it.
I want to hear her laugh, low and unguarded, the laugh I'm convinced she keeps buried somewhere underneath all that steel.
I want a lot of things I'm not going to say out loud.
I shove the door open before I can think of another reason to stand here staring at her like an idiot.
Everything in me goes taut.
Sadie pivots away from the espresso machine, a tray of clean mugs anchored in her hands. Her barista brushes her elbow. Her eyes flare wide, that strand of hair slipping over her cheek, and she snaps a warning I barely catch as she tries to steady the load.
Muscles fire before my brain has a chance to weigh in. “Hey,” I start.
“Careful,” she warns, already off-balance.
Ceramic scrapes against ceramic, a high, sharp clatter.
The tray jerks, mugs tipping in a slow, horrible cascade.
Her hair fans out with the motion, her knees buckling a fraction.
I lunge forward, arm shooting out, fingers slicing through air inches from the spinning handle of the first mug as it teeters off the edge.