Page 6 of When the Storm Breaks
I take in the dark mess of waves in his hair, falling into his eyes—unkempt, like he’s always running his fingers through it. His olive skin catches the bar’s light, almost golden, and the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones only make the softness of his face more striking. A dark, vertical line climbs up his neck, stark against his skin, beforedisappearing behind his ear.
The longer I look, the more he feels like the sun, even though he brings darkness to the space.
His lips twist up into a faint, knowing smirk. It’s a fleeting shift in expression, but it feels like a challenge, and his eyes—so dark they’re almost black—hold me there, like a vise. My pulse jumps, and though every instinct tells me to look away, I can’t.
I don’t want to.
He nods toward the barstools, silently commanding me to sit.
I suck in a breath, startled by the sudden touch of a delicate hand on my arm. I jerk away, turning to see who grabbed me.
“Calla, I’m so glad you came! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Hannah exclaims. Her voice is a little loud, a little too bright, drunk on an enthusiasm that makes her feel like a stranger. It’s a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved Hannah I know at the office, and honestly, it’s a little unnerving.
I chew the inside of my cheek, already bracing for the small talk ahead. I’m drained before it even starts, itchy with discomfort. The familiar urge to escape creeps in.
Hannah grabs my arm, gently pulling me toward a group of coworkers huddled around the high tables to the left of the bar. Her touch is soft, almost reassuring, but it doesn’t cool the heat crawling up the back of my neck.
He’s still watching me.
After what feels like twenty minutes of forced small talk about wellness retreats, trendy superfoods, and everyone’s go-to self-care routines, the group begins to drift apart—some heading to the bar, others slipping into new conversations.
As the table empties, Hannah slides into a chair, watching me closely. When I don’t move, she gestures for me to sit. I do, and something shifts—her eyes lose their glassy edge, her voice turning low and somber.
“How are you holding up?” she asks, softer now, though still too loud for the space. She reaches across the table, her fingers curling softly around mine.
“I’m fine,” I say, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
She squeezes my hand. “I think about her a lot,” she says, her voice rising just enough to draw a few glances. “And I think about you. How alone you must feel.”
The words hit harder than I expect. My smile falters, and for a second, I’m back there—where everything fell apart. My throat tightens, the sting of unshed tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
But I force a shallow breath and say, “I’m okay,” even if it doesn’t feel true. It never does.
I squeeze her hand briefly, trying to break the sad spell that’s settled between us, then quickly let go.
“Okay, time for me to drink now,” I say, my laugh a little too forced to be natural.
A wide smile spreads across her face. With a loud clap of her hands, she slips off the chair and bounces to her feet.
“Great! You get a drink, I’ll hit the bathroom, and we’ll meet back at base camp. Ready? Break!”
She laughs loudly, the tension lifting as she hurries toward the back of the bar.
I sit for a beat, exhaling, trying to piece myself back together.
After another minute, I ease out of my chair and turn, bracingmyself for the man behind the bar who caught my attention earlier.
But when I look up, it’s not him.
It’s someone else. Who’s also infuriatingly attractive.
He’s different, though. Not exactly my type, but undeniably charming in his own way. His light brown hair falls in messy waves across his forehead, effortlessly tousled—like he just stepped off the beach. Warm hazel eyes shine with mischief as he chats with patrons, his laugh carrying easily over their conversations.
There’s a quiet draw to him. Something open. Approachable.
Somehow, he makes the bar feel lighter. Safer. Like the kind of place you could lose track of time in.
As I move toward the bar, he spots me. With exaggerated flair, he steps out from behind the counter, sweeps his arm in a dramatic arc, and adds a playful curtsy that draws a few laughs from nearby patrons.
