Page 17 of That First Flight

“Are you truly? You know I love you just the way you are, and I know that little girl makes you the happiest person in the world… But I know deep down you’re fighting demons that you won’t allow a chance to come to the surface. I also know that you can’t pour from an empty cup. Your cup runneth empty, child.” Her laugh lightens the mood. “Now take this cheeseburger to that fine man before it gets cold. Here’s a southwest chicken salad for you. Take twenty.”

“Fine,” I concede as I grab the salad plate from her hands and make my way out to the bar.

It’s only a twenty-minute conversation.

I can totally do that.

Once Oliver notices me on the opposite side of the bar, he swivels in his stool towards me.

He rests his hands on his broad and thick legs as he spreads them out. He’s wearing a pair of dark wash denim jeans that pair perfectly with his red checkered flannel. He looks more like a local than I do.

“Wow, the customer service here is top notch.”

I raise both plates in my hands. “I figured I’d join an old friend for dinner. If he’s up for it, of course.”

Oliver leaps off the chair, grabbing his orange soda. His body is dangerously close to mine with the sudden movement, which forces me to stumble back a step.He’s a total flirt, isn’t he?His blue eyes meet my green ones and my body trembles slightly. His hand grips my forearm to keep me in place so I don’t spill the plates.

“Woah there, dragonfly.”

The nickname he started using earlier echoes in my ears.

I didn’t disclose what any of my tattoos mean, but something tells me this man is more intuitive than I think he is.

“I’m good.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Let’s grab a table.”

He follows me as I guide us to the only open table in the back corner of the bar. No one ever sits here because it’s close to the side door and there’s a draft from this particular window that sits over it.

However, it’s not bothering me one bit at the moment because Oliver's presence has me hot in every part of my body.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“You know… I never got your last name,” he says.

“Evans.”

“Macey Evans.” The corner of his lips curves up, as he repeatedly nods his head. “Has a nice ring to it.”

I shrug a shoulder, bringing my gaze to my salad as I stab the pieces with my fork.

It has a nice ring to it, but it forever ties me to my parents and I can’t stand that. In fact, Mackenzie is also an Evans. Her birth father wanted nothing to do with her so why give her the last name of someone she will never know in her life?

“I have a question for you,” he interrupts my thoughts.

“Shoot.”

“I’m in town for just a few days before that ‘big storm of the century’ hits,” he says with air quotes. “You think you can help me a little bit with my blog post?”

“How can I help?”

“I need someone who knows the area to show me around a bit. I want to take some scenic mountain shots. Find the best restaurants in town and try their food. Because you know”—he leans in close—“food is the way to my heart.”

My heart rate picks up speed because food is also the way to mine. But that isn’t the only reason… I can’t spend time with this man outside of this place when I’m not working.

This conversation is already doing a number on my anxiety for missing out on some possible tips. Besides, I barely spend enough time with my daughter, so I can’t spend the free time I have to be away from her with him.

To add to my list of things I feel guilty about: being a working mom.

It’s truly a double-edged sword. When I’m at work, I feel guilty about not being with her. When I’m not at work, I feel guilty about not making money for us. The vicious cycle in my brain is never ending.

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