Page 68 of Kismet

After getting back to my hotel, I quickly decide being there was the last place I want to be—well, second to being at the convention center—so I grab my laptop case and promptly order another Uber, going to a diner downtown.

Finding an open spot at the counter, I order myself an iced coffee and some fries before pulling out my laptop and powering it up. My AirPods are in the pocket of my laptop case, so I pull those out too, popping one into my ear, and turning on my Spotify playlist I created for this book. I seem to do my best writing when I’m either overwhelmed or upset, or both, and right now is no exception.

My server brings me my coffee and the fries, and I pause to snap a quick picture for my Instagram stories before diving back into the fictional world I’m pouring my heart and soul into. I get lost in the feelings and the words flowing out of me, writing for who knows how long—hours, at this point, since it’s getting dark outside—before my attention is drawn to my left. Without looking completely over, I watch in my peripheral as someone slides into the spot next to me. I don’t need to look to know who it is. The leather and spice, with a hint of tobacco, is a dead giveaway, and my stomach twists.

Chancing a quick glance, I turn my head and immediately wish I hadn’t bothered. Hazelnut eyes peer back at me as his lip curls into a crooked grin.

What the fuck is he doing here?

If he thinks he’s going to stare me into talking to him, he’s fucking wrong. Ignoring him, I bring my attention back to my manuscript, continuing to write, as song after song plays in my ears. It’s slightly annoying that absolutely every song on this playlist reminds me of the jackass sitting next to me.

I watch him—without actually watching him—order dinner and eat it all. He surprisingly leaves me alone for almost exactly thirty minutes before he speaks.

“What are you writing?”

His voice never fails to make my heart thump faster in my chest, and right at this moment, I fucking hate that visceral reaction.

“It’s just something I’ve been working on here and there.”

“What’s it about?”

“A farmer.” Not wholly the truth, but he doesn’t know that.

“You’ve always been a very talented writer. I bet it’s incredible.”

Sighing, I run my hands down my face, before turning my attention to him. “Stone, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Having dinner,” he replies, as if he sees nothing wrong or strange about this. “It’s somewhere that was close to the convention center, where I didn’t think I’d run into anyone, especially Stella. Are you two…?”

“Hell no. That’s why I’m here in the first place. Hiding from her.”

His deep chuckle vibrates through me, the sound both exciting me and irritating me all the same.

I can’t take it anymore, finally turning my music off and shutting my laptop. My gaze lifts to meet his once again, and I let out a heavy sigh. “What, Stone? What the fuck do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Explain.”

“What is it that you’d like to talk about?” I spit out. “How you lied to me andtrickedme into coming here?”

“It wasn’t like that, Cash.” His voice is so calm, and it pisses me off.

“Okay, then explain. I can’t wait to fucking hear this.” I turn my body, crossing my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes at him while I wait.

“First, I admit—Ididomit the truth. I purposely didn’t tell you I would be attending this weekend, but it wasn’t for a malicious reason. I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew I would be here, and—”

“You’re fucking damn right I wouldn’t have come,” I reply, cutting him off.

“And,” he continues. “I knew this would be a great opportunity for you, so I left thistinypiece of information out. I wasn’t trying to trick you, Cash. I would never do that.”

“Because you’re so fucking noble,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Cash, Jesus. You’re too stubborn for your own good. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

He rubs his forehead, and I can’t help but notice, once again, that his hand is missing a very important piece of jewelry. “Can’t we… I don’t know. Fuck. Be friends?”

“You want to befriends?” My eyebrow raises and my pulse pounds in my ears. I don’t know why I’m even entertaining this conversation, but there’s some part of me that just needs to hear what he has to say. See where he goes with this.

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