I look at the leather before I meet his eyes again. “It’s a smooth move, Julian Colton.” I give him a genuine smile as I say, “And you’re right, it does look awfully good on me.”
His eyes track down to my lips for the briefest moment and it makes my chest flutter.
I want more of this feeling. I want to keep smiling over small talk and flirt as if it’s for sport. I glance up at the clock that hangs just below the bison.The Distilled Truthplayback ended more than three hours ago, and the crowd that packed the place has dwindled down to just a few. During the night, I wrote down the flavor notes of the flights of whiskey, and as I look down at the tally of what people enjoyed most, I smile.
Pulling a sticky piece of popcorn from the bowl between us, I dip it into the huckleberry jam. I almost hum at how delicious the sweet and savory mix so well.
“This one might be my favorite,” Julian says, pointing to the tasting glass in front of him.
He leans forward and turns around the piece of paper where I’ve written down the flavor profiles from tonight’s podcast tasting flight. He reads through the details of which are balanced and which ones linger, the spice and char, the legs and the body. My scale of color and rating. Smiling, he slides it back to me. “That’s the perfect-sized piece of paper for a cross wing.”
Suddenly, it looks like he just got hit with something, and it prompts me to dip my head so his eyes can find mine again.
With an understanding smile, I say, “Now you’ve piqued my interest. You have to tell me what a cross wing is.”
Clearing his throat, he gives me a tight-lipped smile. “A paper airplane.”
I slide the paper across the bar, back to him, wordlessly telling him to show me what he means.
He takes the paper and folds it lengthwise first, and then again in the other direction.
It feels like he’s working through something that I don’t have the privilege of knowing, considering we’re practically strangers. Maybe it’s why I feel the need to ask, “What are you really doing in Montana?”
He pauses his movements for the briefest of seconds, and then continues folding the corners and tucking them inside so that the shape of the paper is entirely different now. “My first time here, I was looking for something.” Leaning his elbows on the bar, he looks up at me.
“And did you find it?” I’ve never been good with lingering curiosity. To me, there’s always some kind of answer or explanation.
He clears his throat again, looking like he’s weighing how much or exactly what he wants to say. “Yes.” At that, he smiles, and my stomach sinks, knowing what he asked when he first came in, but I exhale, relieved, when he adds, “And no.” He looks back down and folds the corners again. “I lost my dad a few years back?—”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I interrupt.
Nodding once, he pauses, and then quietly says, “Thank you.” Holding up the folded, half-completed airplane, he adds, “Used to make these with him. Feels like I’ve been looking for something or other ever since he left.”
“I know the feeling,” I say with a heavy sigh.
His eyes dart to mine at that confession. The comfortable quiet that lingers for a moment bursts when he reaches forward and runs the tip of his thumb along the corner of my mouth. The lightness of it doesn’t make me flinch like I would’ve expected. It feels like kindling in the form of a gesture. With eyes locked on mine, he licks that same thumb, and then, without missing a beat, he says, “This is the first time, in a long time, when I’ve just stopped and looked at what’s in front of me.”
I search his hazel eyes, letting the truth of his words settle between us, and try to determine if it’s the insinuation or just plain attraction that makes me realize I’ve done the same.
The typical loop of music lingers throughout an almost empty bar. But it’s the sound of Viv and Boss mindlessly singing along to Tina Turner as she belts out the irony of what love has to do with it that has Julian and me turning our attention to watch. Both of us almost snort out a laugh.
The change in mood has me reaching for the bottle of whiskey he liked and pouring out two shots. I slide one toward him and then take mine in a slow and steady sip. I want to enjoy the burn of it, give myself a minute and let it coat whatever bits of nerves still reside from the “old me,” and embrace the kind of woman I’m starting to feel I might like.
Julian gives me a knowing smile as I watch him drain his shot, tilting his head back and giving me a peek at the way it works down his throat. I have a rather aggressive urge to lick and feel the scratch of his scruff along my tongue. My attention lands on the neckline of his shirt first, and then the peek of black ink at the base of his neck just as it curves. “Be careful, looking at me like that, Naomi,” he interrupts.
My face heats immediately. I look back up, finding him watching me now.Bebrave.“Still interested in letting me read your future?”
He quirks an eyebrow and says, “Thought you said it was more than just futures.”
I run my thumb along the edge of the leather cuff, thinking about the way it feels against my skin, how I wouldn’t mind his hands in its place, holding me where he wants me while I?—
“I can almost see your dirty thoughts play out with the way you’re touching and looking at that thing,” he says, low and slow.
My stomach swoops at his boldness. He absolutely just called me out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I respond ina playful tone. “But you gave me this—” I hold up my wrist and show off the cuff. “I’ll pay for it with a palm reading.”
Viv gives me the side-eye and then glances at Julian. I can almost anticipate what she’s going to say just from her body language alone. She loudly whispers, “I can think of a few other ways to pay him more handsomely...”
Eyes widening, I bark out a laugh. “Viv!” I jokingly grit out through my teeth as I look at Julian who’s wiping his palm across his mouth, trying to cover his laugh. She didn’t need to say a damn thing; I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve been numb for so long, and I’ve been playing it safe. I want to feel something again.
