SIERRA
It’s been two days since I’ve last seen Crane.
I’m planning the bachelorette party, and I know I have a modest budget to work with, but I also want Lorena to laugh harder than she’s ever laughed before while still saying goodbye to her single years in style.
Where better than Miami?
Armed with brochures from the travel agency, I march into Starbucks to grab a coffee, intent on picking out some potential hotels.
There are about ten of us in total, and we’ve all agreed to keep it a surprise from Lorena.
Her mother is from Miami originally, so of course she’s on hand to help me with anything I needed.
In the meantime though, it’s down to me.
The barista calls out my name, pointing at the steaming mug she’s just placed on the counter.
Without looking up from my brochure, I grab the coffee, heading back to my table.
Via a human obstacle.
“Shit!” I whisper as hot coffee sloshes over the top of my mug.
The woman before me steadies my hand, a wide grin on her face.
“Hey, it’s cool. We need coffee to function, right?”
I want to reply but I'm stunned by her beauty. Waves of caramel and chocolate frame her beautiful face, her wide blue eyes searching mine as she chuckles.
“Girl, go drink your nectar.”
I apologise, moving past her gratefully before grabbing napkins to mop up my wet brochure.
Then I hear him.
At first, I’m not sure it’s him, but his voice is unmistakable.
Crane.
He’s wearing jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal heavily tattooed arms. His hair looks like it’s still wet from a shower, but his eyes fall onto the beauty I’d just collided with.
“Samara.” He smiles, and a jolt of jealousy ripples through me when she kisses him on both cheeks.
“Hey, gorgeous. Espresso?”
I tune out, forcing myself to look away from the pair of them.
They’re too pretty, and I’m barely able to open my eyes.
I slump lower into my seat when they pass me, sitting further back to my relief.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it sounds flirty.
Memories of sitting with Crane in the restaurant flood my brain, and I gulp at the hot coffee, praying it burns away the pain.
“Crane? Samara?” the barista calls out, and I hear a chair scrape from behind me.
“I’ll grab it.”
