Page 76 of Between the Lines

Fia leads us to our table because naturally she already had it figured out. We’re seated with other Wilmington business owners, all who are energized by tonight and eager to chat.

Lucky for me, I barely have to open my mouth. Fia is more than happy to jump right in to answer questions, and by the time I’ve finished my salad, the entire round table is enamored by her.

I lean back, watching her, and before I know it, it’s nearly the end of the dinner.

Another announcer is met with applause as she struts across the spotlit stage, a table full of crystal trophies next to her. Names are called: Best Restaurant, Best Boutique Hotel, Best Bookstore, etc.

When they call my name for Good Grinds, without realizing what I’m doing, I reach for Fia’s hand, pulling her up from her seat.

“Come with me, this is yours too,” I whisper, and Fia doesn’t resist.

She places the award between us at the table, and when dinner and dessert are wrapped, I fish in my pocket for the valet ticket. “So how was your first event?” I joke.

Fia stands, a grin still painted on her face, and grabs the award, following me to the curb outside.

“It was incredible. I can’t believe you wanted to miss it!” She taps my shoulder playfully, and a laugh shakes my ribs as I hand the ticket to the valet.

“I mean seriously, I got to wear this—” She twirls in her green silk dress, which hugs her every curve. “I got free steak and lobster, and several of whatever that drink was.” She kisses her fingertips. “Chef’s kiss.”

“So you’re a sangria girl?” I ask, and it comes out flirtier than intended.

“I guess I am.” Fia leans her arm on the lamppost next to us as other guests spill out of the venue. Our eyes linger on each other for a beat too long. Fia straightens up. “I don’t normally drink, but I figured what the hell, if I was going to try something, tonight would be the night.” She hiccups and covers her mouth, cheeks flushed pink.

“Are you drunk?” I scoff teasingly, leaning down towards her as the lights of my Jeep come into view.

“Nope.” Fia pops her lips open. “I am simply high on life. You should try it sometime.” She winks at me before climbing into the car.

Yeah, she’s definitely drunk.

“You ready to head home then?” I ask, pulling out of the lot.

“No, please don’t take me home!” She pouts. “It’s only nine PM, and I don’t have to worry about a toddler tonight.”

I want to ignore her, tell her she’s drunk, make her go home and sleep it off, but I can’t bring myself to do that, because the inside of the car smells like my cologne and her perfume, and there’s an energy buzzing between us that’s too loud to ignore even if it feels like a road to trouble.

“You want to go get ice cream?” I ask because it’s the first thing I can think of.

“Duh,” Fia responds, before turning up the volume on the stereo. It’s some Taylor Swift song, and she’s belting it, the window down, warm night air blowing her hair around like ripples of fire.

I shake my head, running my palm over the stubble on my face, wondering how she’s been right under my thumb this whole time and I didn’t notice.

It feels like a crime.

Kilwins ice-cream shop has a line out the door, but we get in it anyway. I left my jacket in the car, and roll up my sleeves as we settle in line. Fia watches me closely as I do, the heat from the day still lingering around us.

She is loud and giggly, and changes her mind ten times before she finally decides on strawberry ice cream in a waffle cone, but eventually we get our enormous cones and walk towards the river together. She flits around like a fairy, light and happy, and all I know is I'm drawn to her like a magnet.

A musician plays the saxophone on the street corner across from us, and Fia stops, resting her back against the railing at the river’s edge. The moon and stars shine bright above us as couples leave nearby restaurants and families with teenagers stroll along the river.

Downtown Wilmington is alive, a vibrant summer night, but Fia is by far the brightest thing out here.

She’s talking, a long string of words moving through her red lips. There’s a drop of strawberry ice cream along her lower lip. I know how it would taste if I ran my tongue along it.

Suddenly, those lips go still.

I wasn’t listening to the actual words, and I blink at her sudden silence.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, balking at me. “Oh shoot, do I have something on my face?”