Page 21 of Fractured Rhythm

She shuddered, and I laughed, taking a sip of my black coffee.

“How can you call that coffee? It’s all milk and sugar, isn’t it?”

She glared at me. I’d take any bit of fire I could get at this point and taunting always got a rise out of her.

“This is a flat white. One part espresso and two parts milk. Not nearly as bad as the lattes I used to get years ago, when I wanted to be a trendy coffee drinker,” she said with a huff, and I didn’t miss the small smile at the corner of her mouth. Then she went back to picking at her raspberry bar.

I broke off a chunk and shoved it in my mouth.

“What the hell. Get your own,” she protested.

“Raspberry’s my favorite, and I can’t watch you destroy such perfection instead of eating it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m eating it. I’m just not going to shove the entire thing in my mouth at once like you would.”

“So good,” I said around the bite, trying not to focus on her mouth, on the lips that I had cherished so many years ago. She’d probably taste as sweet as I remembered.

I tamped down the thought, and the heat rolling through my body. Now was not the time for those thoughts. This was about her, and about getting to know her again. Maybe one day she’d accept my apologies—all of them.

“Get your own,” she repeated, pulling the plate closer to her.

“Fine. Spoilsport. Don’t move,” I said as I pushed back from the table, only to return a few minutes later with two raspberry bars. I knew she’d want another one.

“I’m taking a big bite out of that one in repayment,” she said, reaching for my plate and breaking off a larger chunk than the bite I’d taken of hers.

“You know I got the second one for you,” I said. “So, catch me up on everything. Life. Job. Everything.”

“Really, we’re going to do this?” Her expression was wary.

“A long time ago we were great friends, Cas.”

She sighed, and my heart raced, unsure of what she would say next. The mixture of apprehension and fear was stronger than I wanted to admit.

“That was a long time ago. I don’t know.”

She trailed off, and I couldn’t stop myself from reaching across the table and linking my hand with hers. She tensed under my touch but didn’t immediately push me away. I felt our connection buzz down to my toes. Didn’t she feel the same? Couldn’t she feel what we’d always had? The link I’d torn apart with one wrong action after another?

She pulled her hand back. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Look, I know you aren’t ready to talk about our past, and I won’t push you, but I’ve missed you so much. I want to know what you’ve been up to. I never should’ve disappeared like I did after the funeral. I will forever be sorry for that, for so many things, but give us this. I’m tired of not knowing you.”

I held her gaze, unflinching as she nibbled the side of her lip, the plump flesh disappearing into her mouth as she thought about what I’d said. She always abused that lip when she was thinking, and I wanted nothing more than to soothe it with my lips on hers.

But I stayed on my side of the table and waited.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

Silent fist pump!

“Everything. How’s the job? Do you like it? How did you get into it after school?” I knew she’d gone to culinary school. She’d always been amazing in the kitchen cooking with my mom, but working for a social media giant hadn’t been on her list of future careers.

She laughed softly. “I really like it. You know I never wanted to slave away at a restaurant. I was lucky to last at Pisano’s as long as I did.”

“Man, I miss their pizza,” I cut in. Cassie had worked at Pisano’s, the local pizza place, throughout high school. It’d always been a perk for us. She’d show up at my parents’ with slightly imperfect pizzas or wrong orders all the time for us to devour during band practice in the garage.

“Me too.” She paused. “Ah, I haven’t been back home in so long. I hope it’s still there.”

“I think it’s still there.”

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