Page 89 of When the Storm Breaks
And then his eyes snap up, locking onto mine like he could feel me watching.
The almost-smile disappears, replaced by something darker. His gaze doesn’t just land on me—it travels. Slow. Intentional. Pinning me in place.
He looks at me like he’s already touching me, and suddenly the little black dress I almost second-guessed doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It feels like a challenge.
The noise of the bar dulls, everything stretching into a single breath—a wire pulled so tight it might snap. My pulse kicks up, erratic.
And then my feet are moving, closing the space between us before I’ve fully registered the decision.
I slide into a seat at the bar, my eyes never leaving him. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t break stride, but there’s a force to his movements now. His hands work methodically—pouring, shaking, straining—like he’s using the task to keep himself in check.
I could watch him for hours.
God, he looks so good it hurts.
“You’re busy tonight,” I say, raising my voice just enough to cut through the noise.
“Not too busy for you.”
His response is effortless, punctuated by a quick, playful wink.
My stomach flips.
He sets down the shakers, leaning in slightly, crooking a finger to wordlessly beckon me closer. I meet him halfway, and the teasing edge in his expression fades into something softer.
“You look beautiful, Calla.”
Heat flares beneath my skin. The bar feels smaller now, warmer—like the energy around us is starting to spark.
“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking my head slightly. The smile creeping onto my lips is impossible to fight. “I wasn’t sure if—”
“Don’t overthink it,” he cuts in, like he already knows where my thoughts are headed. After a pause, he lifts his chin in consideration. “Champagne?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Sure, as long as some asshole doesn’t over-serve me again.”
He exhales roughly, shaking his head as he turns away. I catch the faintest tug at the corner of his lips in the mirror behind the bar—just before the pop of the cork splits the air.
The glass is in front of me within seconds, but before I can say anything else—
“Haiyden!”
Tanner’s voice slices through whatever this moment was, filled with frustration. I glance over to find him drowning in orders, irritation pulling at his features as he gestures toward the growing line of customers.
Haiyden nods, stepping away—but not before Tanner throws a pointed look my way.
“Someone’s got their priorities all over the place tonight.”
“Watch it, Tanner,” Haiyden warns.
I should be annoyed. But the way Haiyden brushes it off so easily keeps me from thinking too much about it.
Instead, I take slow, measured sips of my champagne.
Pacing myself.
I don’t need another repeat of last time.
