Page 19 of When the Storm Breaks
“Latte?” he asks, extending his other hand.
I nod and hand over the cup. His fingers brush mine again, and I’m starting to wonder if the touch is intentional.
“You must be stalking me if you know my coffee order,” he says, grinning.
I chuckle, but a wave of self-consciousnesswashes over me.
“Lucky guess,” I say with a shrug, shifting in my seat.
Chase takes a long sip of his latte, a grin playing at his lips as he sets the cup down. “All right, Miss Calla,” he says, sliding the scone across the table toward me. “I’ve got a busy morning, so I’ll be bouncing around. If you need me, just holler, stomp your feet, or send up a flare. Sound good?”
I can’t help but smile. “Got it.”
“Good.” He winks and walks off, all confidence, like we’ve done this a thousand times.
The next few hours pass quietly, Chase drifting through the space like a shadow, careful not to disrupt my focus. I bury myself in work, churning through articles and blog drafts faster than I have in weeks. The silence in the bar, broken only by the occasional clink of glass or the soft shuffle of Chase’s movements, is the perfect soundtrack for focus.
As I finish my last piece for the day, I stretch my arms overhead and let out a long sigh of relief. When I lower them, I spot Chase walking out from the back hallway. He strides over and drops into the chair across from me.
“You’ve been busy,” he says, nodding toward my laptop.
“Just catching up,” I reply, closing the screen. “New-ish job. Still trying to make a good impression.”
“Ah, the hustle phase,” he teases, leaning back with one arm draped over the chair. “What kind of job?”
“It’s this new health and wellness brand a few blocks over,” I explain. “I do content writing—blogs, newsletters, that kind of thing.”
Chase grins. “Figures. Everyone at the party looked suspiciously youthful. Must be something in the company water.”
I blink, surprised, then laugh. “I’m not sure it’s that magical. I’m still figuring it out.”
“So… new job, new town?” Chase asks, tone casual but curious.
I nod. “Yeah, moved here a few months ago.”
“Where from?”
The question lands like a misstep on uneven ground. My muscles tense, and I glance down at the table.
“A few hours away,” I say with a small shrug. “This felt like a good place to land.”
His grin fades into something more thoughtful. After a beat, he nods. “Fair enough.”
I take the opportunity to shift the focus. “What about you? Have you always lived here?”
“Nah.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Grew up about two hours north, in a little beach town. Moved here a few years ago. Got an apartment down the street and landed thissweetbartending gig.”
I nod, about to ask another question, but he glances at his watch and mutters, “Shit.”
Before I can react, he’s already on his feet. “Didn’t realize how late it was.” He shoots me a quick grin as he heads for the door. “Gotta unlock quick. You good here?”
I nod and smile. As he walks away, I let out a breath, my mind already replaying our conversation in pieces. The space is quiet otherwise, save for the faint creak of the building settling and the soft jingle of keys.
A glance at the clock on my screen makes me groan—I’ve stayedlonger than I meant to.
Guilt creeps in as I start packing up. I slip my laptop into its sleeve, wind up the charger, and just as I zip my bag, Chase returns, leaning casually against the bar.
“Hey, no need to rush out,” he says, voice light. “I’m just getting some things ready. Not kicking you out or anything.”
