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“House pale ale, coming up.” And then he disappears into the crowd.
Arm still hooked in mine, Alessandra spins us around and leads me to the table with her friends. Their eyes rake over us without judgment, but I don’t miss the way they fix on our connection. On the way Alessandra holds on to me tighter than acquaintances or friends hold on to one another. On the way Alessandra walks with a slight bounce in her step and the smile I see in my periphery.
When we reach the table, Mags moves to a stool closer to Lena, leaving the two vacant stools side by side.
“Hey, Braydon. Didn’t know you were in town,” Mags says.
I park on the stool, flatten my hand on the table, and set the ice on top. “Was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“Oh. Any updates on the story?” She plucks an onion ring from the basket. “Can’t wait to get my copy,” Mags says, then dunks the onion ring in sauce and bites it.
I cup the back of my neck with my uninjured hand and massage the muscles. “The story is part of the reason I’m here.” All three of them watch me, waiting for me to expand. I shrug. “Struggling with a bout of writer’s block. My family suggested coming back and holing up in a room at the B&B. That maybe being back will inspire all the words.”
At this news, Alessandra sags. Visibly deflates at the table. And a hint of sadness shadows her friends’ faces.
I lean into her side, bringing my lips to her ear. “Said it was part of the reason,” I whisper and she licks her lips. “But the biggest reason is you.”
She visibly shudders as I straighten in my seat. Denny deposits a foam-topped mug of pale ale in front of me. In an awkward attempt to reach for my wallet, he stops me and says it is on the house then walks off.
The table quiets as the ladies munch on finger foods. I lift the mug to my lips and sip the pale ale. Hum at the light but hoppy flavor. Take a larger pull from the glass and tune in to the band. Take a deep breath and do my damnedest to settle the turbulent beat of my heart and cacophony in my head.
Because this… it feels easy. Natural. Something I could do every day and not tire of it.
Sit at a table with Alessandra and her friends. Chat, eat food, and listen to rock music. I see it all so easily. Smiles and laughter and whispered words—both sweet and vulgar. My hand on her thigh under the table. My lips on her temple, the angle of her jaw, her chin, the tip of her nose. The public display would be effortless. Like heartbeats and breaths. The undeniable need to be close, to touch, to taste.
Alessandra’s hand grazes my thigh and I jolt. A soft chuckle leaves her lips as she leans into my side. “Stop thinking so loud.”
I turn my head to take her in.She’s so close.Breath painting my lips. Tip of her nose brushing against the side of mine. If I lick my lips, my tongue would taste her. And if I taste her, a public display would make an appearance sooner rather than later.
“And what is it I’m thinking of?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
At this, I laugh. “Of course I do.” Unable to resist, I lick my bottom lip. The tip of my tongue skims her lip, sending a shiver down her body. “But do you?”
“Braydon, I—”
My lips press to hers before I overthink the idea. She freezes. Stops breathing. Gives no indication of whether or not she wants this. Wants me. I start to count in my head but don’t retreat.One.Her lips are so soft and perfect.Two.Heat and deep affection radiate off her.Three.She sparks the dying embers in my soul. When I reach four, she inhales, hooks her finger in my pocket, and deepens the kiss.
This, I did not expect. But when it comes to this woman, I should never set expectations.
In the middle of On Tap, we kiss like desperate partners. Like lovers reunited after years apart. Like our souls have finally found each other and refuse to let go.
And it only makes me want her more.
I shoulder my laptop bag, grab my phone, wallet, and keys, then exit my room at the bed-and-breakfast. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, a woman at reception waves and wishes me a good day. I return the sentiment.
Bypassing my car, I walk toward Main Street and the café. My hair ruffles in the warm, late-spring breeze. The lavender a hint stronger than the pine in the air. Children’s laughter and dogs barking is the musical backdrop as I turn on to Main Street. Pedestrians fill the sidewalk while cyclists pedal on dirt and gravel paths. The street isn’t inundated with cars, but plenty roll by in search of an empty parking space.
At the crosswalk, I press the button then make my way to Java and Teas Me. There is a line to the door, but it moves steadily as I step inside. Every time I shuffle forward, my eyes find Alessandra. And when our eyes catch, my pulse thumps faster, harder.
A young woman takes my order while Alessandra does her best not to smile in my direction. Her resistance briefly tugs at the corner of my mouth. I pay for my breakfast, take the numbered table tent, and weave through the tables, deciding to sit on the outdoor patio.
I opt for a table nearest the street. All the tables are covered by an awning and enclosed by a three-foot metal fence. With the wide sidewalks, the patio seating still allows pedestrians to pass without disruption.
“Perfect,” I whisper as chair legs scrape the concrete.
Leaning back in the chair, I set my laptop bag and the numbered tent on the table but don’t unzip the bag. Instead, I let my eyes wander. Take in the town after being away for weeks. Shut out all the pressure and worry and anxiety of not meeting my deadline.
