Page 30 of Riding the Curve

As I walk toward the booth in the back, my eyes roll appreciatively over the body that occupies one half of it. My gaze slides slowly up her long, tanned legs to the short sage dress that took my breath away the first time I saw her in it.

Quietly, I place my coffee and cinnamon roll on the table, trying my best not to disturb her. Then I slide into the empty bench.

I lean back, sipping my coffee, watching her back rise and fall with each deep breath. Her long curls cover the table like a fuzzy blanket. She looks peaceful. Calm. Far from a few weeks ago when she was barely hanging on by a thread.

An ache forms in my chest. For two weeks, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way she broke down in my arms, and how desperately I wish I could take away her sadness.

Across the table, her body stirs and she rises with a yawn. Still in a sleep haze, I find comfort in the fact she hasn’t noticed me quite yet. As she massages the sleep away from her eyes, I catch sight of her nails. They’re painted a delicate shade of pink. A subdued change to the brightly colored polish that used to always decorate her toes and fingertips. This color screams nothing of the vibrant personality that encapsulates the woman before me.

My jaw clenches and my grip tightens around my cup. Regret sits heavily inside my chest as I think about all the years I’ve missed and all the changes in Hen that I’ll never know. All because of my fear. I wish I never had let it grab hold of me.

If life somehow gives me the opportunity to be graced back into this wonderful woman’s orbit, I will not mess it up again.

Completely lost in thought, I don’t even notice when her hazel eyes finally come into focus.

“What are you doing here?” She breathes, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Enjoying a cup of coffee.” I lift my cup into her view while deepening my voice. “With a view.”

Instantly, her tanned skin deepens several shades of red. A thrill warms through my veins, satisfied that I can still bring a blush to her cheeks despite her having every reason to hate me.

I hide my smile inside my cup as I take a long, drawn-out sip. Her glare falters, traveling lower and hovering over my Adams apple. Her lips part, and I watch as her eyes lock onto the slow bob of my throat as I swallow. My entire body vibrates under the tension that ripples around us.

The ceramic mug clanks against the wooden table, startling Hen out of her dreamy haze. Her eyes snap back up to mine, this time heated with fury. And because I’m apparently a masochist, I shoot her a wink and my best panty-dropping smile.

“Really?” She huffs, scrambling to remove her body from my vicinity.

Too far, you idiot.

“Hen—”

My palm circles her wrist before she can escape and I pull her back toward me.

Long legs brush against my jeans, and the sensation stalls my breath.

“Let go,” she snaps.

“Just sit and talk with me for a little while.”

She rolls her eyes, ready to bite back with a sharp remark. So I jump in before she can. “Please. It’s been long enough without talking. Let’s call a truce, even if it’s just for today.”

Her eyes flutter close. “Fine,” she whispers.

Relief cracks through the weight crushing my chest. When she reclaims her seat across from me, I can finally breathe again. Well, that is, until I got another good look of the woman in front of me.

She sweeps her long waves behind her ears, tossing some of it over her bare shoulder. Blush dusts over her freckled cheeks, making them pop against those deep hazel eyes I used to lose myself in. A dark shade of rose paints her lips, making me want to reach over and rub my thumb across them.

And that dress? Fuck me.

It’s even better than when I saw it the first time, and brings back all the memories of that night along with it.

While she picks up my fork and begins to dig into the untouched cinnamon roll, I let my gaze wander. It traces down the elegant slope of her neck and rolls over her curves. She’s showing just enough bronzed skin to have my brain almost short-circuit from all the ways I’m imagining my lips caressing every inch of it.

From the moment I began to see Henley as more than a friend, she has always been able to draw me in. No one has ever been able to compete since. It’s like I’m the Earth and she’s the sun. I’m caught in her orbit, revolving around her warmth.

I feel a prickle against my skin, an awareness that I’m no longer perusing unnoticed. With the fork still pressed against her bottom lip, her gaze locks on mine. Slowly, the corners of her lips twitch upward. The gold flakes in her hazel eyes glimmer with the delight of catching me in the act.

“You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.” She smirks, taking another forkful of the heavily iced roll.