Fine. I can feel something and still not act on it. I've had plenty of practice at that.
“Rowan, can you grab more almond milk?” The words come out a little too sharp, too fast.
She shoots me a look over the pastry case. “You good? You look…”
“My face is fine,” I mutter, measuring beans for the next order with more precision than necessary. “We’re slammed.”
Three more pings. I bury myself in the grind and hiss of milk, the soft babble from Poppy’s monitor, and the memory of the unopened envelope burning a hole in my glove compartment, the Oregon calls waiting inside it. I could open it. I know I should. But that would mean ripping the bandage off everything I’ve been running from.
“Sadie!” Rowan snaps. “Order up. Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” I blink hard and shove the spiral back where it belongs. “Right here.”
Axel’s order still sits on the screen, status hovering on In Progress. That same flutter kicks at my ribs. I push it down. No distractions. Not now. Not ever.
I turn back to the espresso machine, hand steady on the portafilter. One shot at a time. One day at a time.
Chapter 2
Axel
By the time I finally step through the doors at Slade Brewing Company headquarters, fifteen minutes late, I barely register the clock. My brain’s stuck replaying dark hair in a messy bun and the way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes when I picked up my drink yesterday.
Her hair was pulled up, but I couldn’t stop picturing it down, messy around her throat, my fingers buried in it while she tried to look away. I still feel the charge from her glancing past me yesterday—one flick of those eyes and I was hard, no goddamn reason for it except her. I keep telling myself this isn’t obsession, but my body’s already decided otherwise.
“Look what the wind blew in,” Tyler calls from his desk as I weave through the open office. He’s buried in spreadsheets, perfectly dressed, with that smug look that makes me itch to mess up his tie.
“Nice of you to join the land of the employed today.”
Dropping into the chair, I shoot Tyler a look. “Some of us require a little more beauty sleep.” My voice has more bite than usual, and I know it. I’m thinking about Sadie, her mouth, how fast she’d shut me down if I ever tried that charm on her.
Tyler squints at me over his monitor. “You look more like you got run over by a moral crisis—or a truck. Everything okay?”
“Never better.” I flash him my signature grin. “Just marinating on the new seasonal brew. Important beer thoughts rattling around up here.” I tap my temple.
He’s not buying it. “Right. Suddenly passionate about quarterly projections?”
“I contain multitudes, brother.” Leaning back, I prop my feet on his desk. “Maybe I’m finally embracing my role as the mature Slade.”
Tyler bursts out laughing, and I half grin at the dent to my pride.
“What’s so funny?” Trent’s deep voice booms as he strides in, drink in hand, looking every inch the CEO in his tailored shirt.
“Axel here thinks he’s turning responsible,” Tyler explains.
Trent studies me for a beat. “Is that why you’ve checked your phone six times since you walked in? Who’s got you scheduling like you actually own a calendar?”
My hand comes down hard as I drop my phone face down. Damn. “No one. Just waiting on that distributor call from Boulder.”
“The same one you said, quote, ‘could wait until hell freezes over’?” Trent arches an eyebrow.
“I’m always like this,” I protest, though even to my ears it’s thin.
“Never like this,” Tyler corrects, dropping the teasing tone. “Seriously, Ax. What’s up?”
Swiveling toward the window, I buy time. There’s no way to explain this without sounding insane. I’ve met hundreds of women, flirted with most. But something about Sadie Calloway and those ten-foot-high walls around her has lodged under my skin and refuses to budge. It’s not just the way she moves with tight, efficient grace, like she’s carved out of tension. It’s theway her ass shifts under those faded jeans, how her hips sway even when she’s fighting it. I catch myself thinking about what she’s hiding under all that armor, how she’d look stripped down, open, just for me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just didn’t sleep well. The ranch house creaks like a haunted ship, and I might be slightly allergic to responsibility. You know how it is.”
