That girl is the last person in the world I expected to see walking through my door. Pissed at the encounter I just had with Ellie, I all but slam my office door shut and plop down in my leather chair. Throwing my head into my hands, I snort at the thought of her. That girl had been an angel last night. Something left of a goddess. The way she touched me, the way she wanted me to kiss her.

God. Take me back. I ache just thinking about her.

Everything was perfect last night, and in my mind, I imagined myself straight-up courting her. Taking her to dinners at The Flying Fable, more concerts in Wilmington, art festivals at the park, walks on the beach, music jams at the marina. All of it. The last thing I'd expected was for her to leave me hanging the way she did. When she walked off into that rainstorm, my mind went blank, and the importance of the entire night we shared came shattering down around me. I thought we'd bonded, experienced something beyond the music. But I was mistaken.

Leaning back, I pound my fist into my desk out of frustration.

See? This is why I don't get involved with people. This is why it's best to keep your distance, to focus on the significant things in life. Career and family and soul-moving experiences.

But last night. Hell if it hadn't been one of the most freeing things I've ever experienced. Maybe that's not saying much, but my soul was beyond moved next to hers.

Frustrated, I grab my monthly planner and slam it open. Can I work something around to get her press? Ellie had a point in how influential Stars Over Southport could be in drawing attention to the area, growing culture. She's right, but it goes against everything I've ever learned in the business. Thumbing through the list of articles lined up for press this week, I make it up in my mind that there has to be a solution. Picking up my work phone, I dial Chris' number. On the third ring, he answers, and I hear what sounds like a country song blaring in the background.

“Dude, you calling me from work? What the hell are you still doing there?”

Sighing, I rotate my chair to face the window that has a side view out over onto the pier by the river. "Yeah, I'm still here."

He scoffs. “It’s a Friday. You crazy?”

"Probably. Hey, I’ve got a proposition for you. What do you think about us making room for that Stars Over Southport festival that's in June."

I wait for an answer, but he sounds preoccupied until I hear the dimming of the music. "You've heard about it? The music festival?" I ask in an attempt to gain his attention. "The one that's taking over the block at Franklin Square Park."

“Charlie Ward’s running that one, right?”

“Yeah.” I say, not knowing who that is. I narrow in on the next few weeks of my planner and grab a pen to jot down the guy’s name.

“That’s a no from me then,” Chris says without hesitation. “Not once has he bought a spot from us. Not even for the Magnolia Festival in Wilmington, and he’s been doing that shit for ten years now. If he won’t advertise with us, we shouldn’t—“

“I know. But is there any way we could make it work? Is doing a piece justifiable?”

Chris hums in thought even though I can tell he’s decided. “Not sure, chief. I’m not a fan of the idea. But ultimately, you’re the boss.”

"Yeah," I say, at a complete loss for words. At the very least, I imagined he would entertain the idea. I can't help but want to do this for Ellie, but Chris is probably right. It's fundamental. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

I suddenly hear a muted racket floating from the front of the building. Peering through the window, I don't have a clear enough view of our office-front to see if anyone's at the door. "I gotta go, man. Talk soon," I tell him before hanging up. I grab my bag off the chair, slide my laptop into it, and flick the lights as I head out, shutting my office door behind me. Glancing around the dark area of Bridget's desk, the noise has disappeared.

Heading out the back door, I make sure to lock up. Since we have no parking lot, there aren't many places to park this time of year with all the tourists. But I'd managed to snag a spot across the street on the riverfront upon returning from lunch. As I close in on my car, I see something dark on the windshield. Is that a goddamn rock?

Nearing my spot, I realize the object is too dark to be a rock. Half of it's stuck underneath my windshield wiper. As soon as I reach my car, I know exactly what it is. Grabbing the top of it, I lift my windshield wiper, and there in my hand unfolds a Boxley Brothers T-shirt. And there isn't a single doubt in my mind that it's the one I'd given Ellie last night.

Grimacing at the fact that she’d taken my no so seriously, I can’t help but feel guilty. “Touché, Ellie," I say aloud. Turning, I wonder when she'd done this. Before or after me having to turn her down? Looking down each sidewalk, I don't see her. But when I glance over at the corner of Howe and Moore, I see a figure with dark hair turning the corner.

Throwing my bag in the back, I start the car and pull a quick U-turn on the street. When I catch up to the figure, I realize that it is, in fact, Ellie. My heart pounds as I'm not sure what I should do in this situation.

Rolling my window down, I speed to catch up to her, then decelerate to a matching crawl beside her. “Hey,” I shout over my engine.

She doesn’t look at me, keeps a hold firm on her bag, her head straight ahead. I chuckle at how cute she looks in her jeans, her wavy hair tousled in the breeze.

"Ellie, you're supposed to keep the shirt," I say, hoping this will sway her. "I gave it to you." Looking in the rearview mirror, I see a few cars lined up behind me, so I pull closer to the curb and wave them by me. "Look, will you just take the shirt, please?" I grab the balled up tee and hold it out of the sunroof so she can see it over the car. But still, this reaps no response from her. Not even a laugh. To be honest, I don't know what kind of a reaction I'm looking for, but she has to give me something. Anything.

“You were right back there, okay?”

This garners a glance from her, as she stops in her steps. When she locks eyes with me, I feel my heart soften and the heat rise in my neck. I want to swoop her up, cradle her, and tell her that I don’t give a shit what Chris says about running an article. In a perfect world, I’ll put any fucking thing she wants in that paper.

"Right about what?" she asks, her voice on the edge of gruff. She tucks her wild hair behind her ear.

"About me being a nerd," I say, following up on her earlier claim of my nerdiness. I push my glasses up my nose for added effect, but she takes off again, fists balled at her side, shaking her head at me. "What? I am one," I shout through the window, suddenly becoming aware of a few tourists eyeing us from in front of one of the craft shops. I lift a hand at them and smile, acknowledging their attention.

"You're a lot of things, Mason," Ellie yells back at me.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

"Like this," she says, shoving her fist at me with her middle finger raised.

Her reaction catches me so off-guard, I feel my dick twitch at how sexy she is. I laugh so loud I think I might have alarmed her because she looks over at me once more, her arm still raised right at me, the bird still flying high.

"What kind of bird is that, Ellie? A songbird?"

Before I even realize it because I'm still enamored, she turns and is crossing Howe Street behind my car, waiting for a van to pass her in the other lane and heads toward the coffee shop. And yes, her middle finger is still raised right at me.

This is not the type of experience I'd been hoping for when I met this girl last night. In my wildest of dreams, we would meet up and continue to connect over small parts of our lives, drawn in one another's direction like opposite ends of a magnet. She upended my world, flipped it upside down at that concert. And that hard, beautiful girl is the last person in the world I ever expected to see giving me the finger through my rearview mirror while marching down Howe Street.