Page 64 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Sophia

Will was sweet. I learned he was an artist, had a studio in Kingston, and played amateur hockey in his spare time. He was also considerate, funny, and undeniably handsome.

But when his touch brushed against my hand, I felt his warmth, but nothing more. I saw kind eyes and a nice smile when he looked at me, but I didn’t see much beyond that.

He wasn’t Corbin.

“This isn’t going well, is it?” Will’s question broke my thoughts.

I straightened in the booth across from him, my hands nervously spinning the base of my martini glass—which didn’t taste nearly as good as the one Corbin made for me a few weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t say that.” I smiled. “I’m enjoying your company, I just…”

His hand reached for mine, gently pulling it from the glass.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “This is what dating is all about—you try it, and sometimes, it doesn’t work. But eventually, someone comes along who doesn’t just fit into your life—they rewrite the definition of it.”

His words startled me.

What if Corbin rewrote the definition of my life only to cast me as a footnote in the story we were meant to share?

I tried to wave off my depressing thoughts, focusing back on Will, staring at where our hands interlocked.

“That’s a profound thought to be had in the corner of a dingy bar, Will.”

“What can I say? I’ve got an artist’s heart trapped in a hockey player’s body. ”

I looked up and smiled at him. He gave me a dimpled smile back, his warmth spreading through me like a calming hug.

“You—well, your friend—agreed to have a drink, and we had it. I can close our tab.”

“No, you drove all the way here, drinks are on me.”

A movement near our booth caught my eye.

I broke away from Will’s gaze to look, and my heart leaped into my throat.

Corbin towered over us like a storm cloud in a perfect wool coat. His midnight-black hair was tousled, but not from neglect—more like the wind outside had teased it into an effortless style that only made him look more achingly handsome.

His eyes—those piercing amber-whiskey eyes—locked on mine, unreadable but intense. The heat of his presence seemed to suck all the air from the room, and suddenly, I couldn’t hear the soft murmur of conversations around us or the clinking of glasses.

Will shifted across the table, his hand slipping from mine.

“Uh, hi.” His polite smile faltered as he glanced between us. “Can we help you?”

Corbin’s gaze flicked briefly to Will, narrowing slightly.

“Will, this is… my boss, Corbin Buescher.”

Will extended his hand. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

Corbin stared at it for a moment—like he wanted to rip it from Will’s body—before finally reaching out to shake it.

I caught a small wince that Will instantly wiped away, and when Corbin let go, Will gently massaged his palm with his other hand.

“Nice to meet you, Will . Sophia, I need to speak with you.” Corbin’s words were friendly, but they held a sharp edge.

He turned and walked toward the bar—I watched his retreating back the entire way.

“That guy is your boss?” Will asked once Corbin was out of earshot.

I nodded, my heart throbbing in my throat, leaving no room for words.

“Where do you work? Langley?”

I exhaled a shaky laugh, while my eyes drifted back to Corbin—his presence eclipsed everything, leaving no room for anyone else.

And suddenly, this entire night—this attempt at moving on—felt laughable .

“Listen, if you ever want to try this again, you have my number.” Will stood up and grabbed his coat from the booth.

I stood up to say goodbye, and he pulled me into a hug, the scent of cloves and honey encircled me.

He was warm, comfortable, cozy—like rolling up in a blanket while cookies baked in the oven.

“Bye, Will. And thank you for a nice evening,” I said into his chest.

“Bye, Sophia. Thanks for the drink.” He unwrapped his arms from me and turned to leave.

After watching him walk out the door, I turned around to face the bar. Corbin’s eyes were boring into me, penetrating me from across the dimly lit room.

Swallowing my nerves, I grabbed my things and strode over to him.

“Care to join me for a drink?” he asked, his voice like rolling thunder in my chest.

I nodded—aware that I had rolled out of the warm blanket and was now running right into the eye of the storm.