Page 47 of Fire Away


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Instead of doing that, I fall into the chair at my desk and pull my phone out to type out a text.

You wouldn’t believe what just happened at work. I’m on a client team for a big case!

As soon as the whooshing sound pings through the phone and my text bubble turns blue, a knot of regret forms in my stomach. Why the hell did I just text Warren out of the blue to tell him good news?

We’ve never done that sort of thing.

He’s going to think it’s weird. Hell, I think it’s weird. Since when is he the first person I think of when I have good news? I don’t usuallyhavegood news though, so I don’t know who that person would be in the first place.

After a few hours of sweating, shaking my head, and chastising myself for sending that stupid text, with no reply from him I might add, I finally stopped checking my phone and stuffed it in my bag to leave for lunch.

Since I didn’t stay at my house last night, I didn’t pack a meal or even a snack to bring with me today. I feel like I’m going to pass out if I don’t eat soon.

Waving to the secretary at the front desk in the lobby, I hurry toward the double glass doors on a mission to find the nearest chicken strip basket. With a few steps to go, a tall figure steps toward the entrance from the outside and pulls open one of the doors.

He takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his hair which has no business being that thick and grabbable. Delight flashes across his face as the glare of the sun reflects off the closing glass door behind him.

“Warren Farrow, what on earth are you doing here? This is a pleasant surprise!” the secretary beams.

“Just stopping by to pick up my girl, Donna. Have a good afternoon,” he winks at her and scoops one arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. “We’re celebrating. You hungry?”

“Very,” I manage to squeak out despite my shock at seeing him here.

“Good,” he nods with a devastating smile.

After kissing me on the forehead and grabbing my hand, he leads me outside and down the sidewalk of downtown Westridge.

“My girl?” I giggle, giving him shit for that line in the lobby.

“Felt right,” he says without slowing his quick pace as he pulls me along.

“I wasn’t expecting that after you ghosted me and never texted me back.”

He laughs and I find myself wearing a big smile, helpless to fight off his contagious excitement.

“When you’re proud of someone, you don’t reply with a lamecongratulationsover text. You pick them up and take them out to lunch,” he states. This time, he looks over his shoulder at me, and my cheeks heat up realizing how thoughtful he is.

I keep up with him the best I can while we pass under several hanging flower pots and little shops with hand-drawn signs out front. Just when I’m about to protest that these heels were not made for walking, he takes us inside the quaint diner nestled on the corner of the street. It’s bustling with people, but he snags a freshly cleared-off booth in the back by the window and slides into one side.

Relieved, I sigh and sink into the spot opposite him. As soon as I lift my hand to pick up a menu though, I freeze. A sudden sick feeling rolls around in my stomach, and a few deep breaths and rapid blinks do nothing to send it away.

When Warren looks up and sees my face, his brow furrows.

“Are you alright?”

I touch my hand to my forehead. It’s clammy and warm.

Maybe it’s anxiety. Getting sick for that reason wouldn’t be far-fetched for me, and I was feeling queasy with regret after sending that text to Warren, not knowing how he’d react. And more importantly, wrestling with the fact that he was the first person that I thought of when I had good news to share in the first place.

This doesn’t feel like that type of sickness, but I’ve been wrong plenty of times before.

Not wanting to ruin our lunch, I fake a soft smile.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just need to eat something?” It comes out more like a question than I meant it to. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having, can you order it for me? I’ll—be right back.”

It starts the second I stand and turn away from the table. Nausea rises like smoke from the pit of my stomach, and I run as fast as I can into the single-stall bathroom down the hall. Despite my urgency, I barely make it inside fast enough before I’m clutching my midsection and heaving straight over the toilet.

It makes sense that I’m currently emptying the contents of my stomach in a public bathroom. It was only a matter of time before this day, which was going far too well, took a turn for the worse.