Page 5 of Find My Way Down to You

A bored expression blooms over his face.

“Is that mine?” His voice is rich and deep. He has an accent I can’t place. Foreign but strangely familiar.

“Y-yes,” I stammer.

His eyes are black as the sea underneath a moonless sky. They’re hard to look away from.

I clear my throat, pretending to read the ticket. “Cary?”

One of his eyebrows flexes. There’s a sharp contrast between his all-black clothing and pale gold skin. His gaze drifts from the plate to the open space in front of him.

Oh, right.

I slide the pizza onto the table. “Here you go.”

Then, to my own surprise, I don’t walk away. Curiously, I say, “Only…pineapple?”

Cary flicks open a napkin. He doesn’t answer.

That’s my cue to get back to work. But I don’t. “It’s not a bad choice,” I tell him. “I prefer my pizza sweetandspicy.”

“I did not ask.”

The suddenness of his cold tone pierces me. An arrow ripping through skin.

My head tilts. “Sorry, what?”

“I did not ask,” Cary repeats with that same curtness, “what you like.”

Embarrassment burns across my cheeks. I shift on my heels. The urge to leave grows. So does something else under my skin. An annoyance that’s slowly building from a smolder to a flame.

During training, Angela laid out her rules.

The first:While they’re in Viva Catalina’s, the customer isalwaysright.

From the moment I started here in June, I’ve respected that rule. I’ve never broken it. But with Cary…it’s hard not to. His cruel, downturned mouth. The blade-sharpness of his glare, like he’s searching for a weakness.

My life has been split in half since that incident two years ago. Divided into the promising August of Before and the ashes of August After. Who I was then—hopeful and logical and tethered—isn’t who I am now.

Now I’m impulsive. Reckless with my decisions.

Most days, I keep it bottled up. I ignore the clawing beneath my skin.

But not today.

I lean down, lowering my voice. “For someone who has such a sweet tooth, you sure are salty.” His finely shaped jaw tenses. I don’t allow him room to retort. “Next time, add some pepperoni and jalapeños. It might make your personality a little more…original.”

Once the words break free, guilt spreads like blood from an open wound. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s a customer. It was too far. It wasn’t me.

Theold me, I mean.

Angela’s going to fire me. An apology fumbles around my throat.

I stop myself when Cary’s eyes flash. Gold spilled over black ink. At least, it looks that way. Maybe my humiliation is playing tricks on my mind.

“You assume there will be a next time,” Cary finally says. His fingers curl into fists on the table.

I open my mouth.