Page 75 of Between the Lines

“Deal.”

More people file into the venue than I anticipated. Local politicians shake hands with other big players in the town. Business owners chat with eager smiles, and in the distance of the marble-floored ballroom, I spot the journalist who conducted the interview at Good Grinds.

“Caden Brooks.” I turn at the sound of a voice that’s eerily familiar. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you!”

My father’s former board member places her hand on my upper arm, flashing a fake grin with teeth a shade too bright. My jaw tightens, in only slight disbelief that she has the audacity to greet me like we are old friends, considering her affair with my father almost destroyed my family. Though, she’s only half to blame.

“Darcy,” I bite out, sipping my bourbon.

My gaze flits over her shoulder, searching for a green silky dress.

When my eyes land on Fia, she is talking to someone I don’t recognize. She's radiant, with a smile stretched wide across her face, and instantly I know I made the right choice bringing her tonight. This girl was made to be the life of the party. My counterpart in every way.

She catches my gaze just as Darcy pulls me back into the conversation with a boisterous laugh over something I missed.

Darcy steps back, hand over chest. “I am the director of Wilmington Life now,” she says, almost giddy, like I should congratulate her. She got what she wanted out of my father—a hush money settlement—and now she has a cushy new job.

I throw back the rest of my bourbon.

“Hey there, I am so sorry to interrupt.” Fia slides right in between Darcy and me, flashing a bright smile. “Caden—the photographer was looking for you.” She widens her eyes at me. “I promised her I’d bring ya on over!”

“Excuse us,” I say, avoiding looking at Darcy as I leave her standing there alone.

Fia’s fingers wrap around my elbow gently, dragging me behind her, straight through the gaggles of mingling people holding cocktails. She doesn’t stop until we are in an empty side corridor. It’s quiet and I can finally exhale.

There’s no photographer out here—but I knew that.

Fia giggles, clocking me up and down. “Figured you needed to be saved.” She shrugs easily, sucking down her fruity drink through two black straws. “Who was that woman anyway?”

I wave it off. “No one important . . . and thank you.”

“Anytime, Brooks. That’s what I’m here for. To save you from talking to people since you hate everyone,” she jokes, throwing her head back as she laughs, lighting up this entire marble corridor, but I barely crack a smile as my eyes remain on her.

“I don’t hate everyone,” I respond, my brow furrowing despite trying to match her lighthearted attitude.

I don’t hate you.

Fia points to her drink and steps towards me, close enough for me to see the gold specks swirling in those green irises.

“Hey, have you ever tried sangria?” she asks, rolling her eyes back. “It’s so good!”

Now I do laugh, and warmth ripples through my chest. She doesn’t step back but I lift my chin at her empty glass.

“No, I don’t drink that sweet shit. But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Oblivious to how close we are, Fia pats the front of my jacket and flips her hair over her shoulder.

“I am, this is really fun.” Her eyes sparkle and she backs up, mouth in an O. “Oh my god—did you see the dessert table?” She pinches her fingers together in the air inches from my face. “They have these mini cheesecakes, and holy shit, I’m thinking about stealing the whole tray.”

With my hand on my belly, I shake my head, smiling at her.

“You are too easy to impress.”

Fia scoffs, stepping back with her arms crossed over her chest. “They are miniature cheesecakes. They are adorable. Don’t you rain on my parade, Caden Brooks.”

“I would never dream of it,” I reply, and an announcer’s muffled voice says something about taking your seat, and we both turn to head back into the main room.As we leave the corridor with my hand on the small of her back, I instinctually glance over my shoulder, making sure no one sees us. Fia’s palpable joy is making this night more bearable, but in the back of my head, there’s still a nagging sensation. There’s still something telling me I can’t be with her, not in the way I want.

I go to sip my drink, to wash away the thought, but it’s empty.