Page 51 of Chasing Clouds

“Morning, Katie.” Five mornings a week, Katie opens the shop, and in the afternoons she takes classes for a master’s degree. Over this past week, we’ve talked a lot, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made my first friend in Tampa.

“How was the party?” she asks, smoothing down her apron.

“Amazing. Reid’s friends are so nice.” I pull my phone out and show her a picture Missy texted to me. That’s the other thing about Katie—football doesn’t interest her in the slightest, so she’s unimpressed by Reid and his friends.

“That’s great! You look so beautiful, but then again, I knew you would. I’m glad you had a good time.” She knew I was worried about meeting so many people.

“Me too.” I grin at her.

“Want to try something different, or do you want the usual?” she asks, looking over at her pastry case.

“The usual, thank you.” I wander to the end of the bar and sit down. Looking at the notifications on my phone, I see I’ve been tagged in a ton of photos showing up on Twitter and Instagram. I scroll through them and smile. There are so many great ones of Reid and me that the team photographer took, as well as some of me with the other wives and friends.

I look relaxed, happy, and so does he. We really do make a striking couple. He’s so much larger than I am, and his dark features compliment my lighter ones. I wonder if he can get us copies of these so I can look back and remember this night later on.

“All right. You’re all set.” She hands me the bag and the two drinks. A line has formed, so there’ll be no chatting today.

“Same time same place tomorrow?” I ask.

“I’ll be here.” She smiles and heads back to take the next order.

Shuffling out the door, I wait for the light to change then cross the street to Reid’s building. I can’t stop smiling and I’m sure I look like a goof, but I don’t care. It won’t be long before my cheeks start hurting, but how can I not smile knowing what’s waiting for me upstairs?

“Camille.”

My smile immediately drops and my feet freeze on the sidewalk outside the entrance.

No. No. No. This cannot be happening. My eyes have widened, although I’m looking at nothing, and I’m blinking as fast as I can. Dread like ice-cold water slips straight down my spine as I take in a deep breath and slowly turn around to come face-to-face with Patrick.

Silence hangs between us as we stare at each other, the tension thickening so much it could be sliced.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, feeling like my privacy has somehow been breached.

“Actually, I think that’s a better question for you. What are you doing here?” he all but spits out. Patrick is wearing navy chino pants with a Vineyard Vines pullover. He doesn’t look out of place per se, but at the same time, he does. He doesn’t belong here.

“How did you find me?” I ask, my voice shaking. I hate that he’s making me feel this way. Our relationship was never a bad one; we just never should have been an us. We weren’t meant to be, and secretly—well, maybe not so secretly—everyone knew it.

He presses his lips together and looks away, not giving me an answer. The keys he’s holding in his hands jingle as he crosses his arms over his chest. I spot his BMW keychain, which tells me he drove here instead of flying. How long is he planning on staying?

“You shouldn’t be here. You have no right to come here and bother me.” Whether he believes my marriage to Reid is real or not, this is Reid’s home, and technically we are on our honeymoon. He’s so in the wrong for tracking me down—how does he not see that?

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d pick up your damn phone and talk to me!” he yells, and a few passersby glance our way.

He’s so angry—angrier than I think I’ve ever seen him.

My nose stings. I hate confrontation more than anything, and he knows this. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, and my go-to mode is to shut down, not engage.

“I don’t want to talk to you—did you ever consider that?”

His eyes narrow like they’re trying to bore a hole in me. We’re in a face-off, and it’s clear to anyone watching. Eventually, his gaze flicks down my body and he scowls. He doesn’t like what I’m wearing and is making his opinion known, but I don’t care. I don’t respond, defend, or move until finally Patrick loses his patience, takes a step toward me, and reaches for my arm. The only person I want touching me is Reid and I suck in air out of shock, quickly shuffle backward, and trip, dropping Reid’s coffee. The lid flies off on impact and hot liquid splashes all over me. Gasping at the burn, I instinctively bend over to try to wipe it off and rub my skin.

“Camille—” Patrick bends down too.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” a voice comes from behind me. I turn around to find the lobby security guy glaring at Patrick. Over the last two weeks, this guy hasn’t spoken one word to me. He nods as I come and go, knows I’m here with Reid, and right now, I’m so grateful for him.

Locking eyes with Patrick, I stand up and tell him the truth, “No, I’m not.”

I frown, and Patrick does too. I’m not sure how he thought this little scenario was going to go, but it’s not going his way.