I chuckle that he’s not talking about my coffee. He’s callingmeCoffee.
“Hello, Kicks.” The nickname rolls off my tongue and surprises me. It feels a little intimate, but I don’t know his name, so I decide to just shake it off. I jerk a thumb toward the counter, trying not to spill my coffee. “Hate to break the news to you, but they sold out of peanut butter crisps.”
“Guilty,” he admits, giving me a full-teeth, panty-melting grin. I don’t have time to react to the feelings his body and smile are giving me because he bends and scoops up a little girl who links her arms around his neck. “I think Cora and I here devoured every last crumb that Chloe gave us.” He nods toward the front counter. “I’m on a first-name basis with the owner now. But I never did get your name.”
As she looks from me to the stranger, Carol’s cheeks are the same flaming magenta as her lip color. I can already tell she’s on fire watching me chat up a hot stranger, but I hope she has the sense to realize this is not one of those matchmaker moments my ma’s friends are so fond of orchestrating.
This man is a possible customer of the Body Shop and, by the looks of it, very, very attached.
“I’m Grace,” I tell him. “But everyone calls me Gracie.”
“Gracie, you haven’t met Coach Cooper yet?” Carol hands the book she was holding to the little boy. “Allow me to properly introduce you.”
Coach Cooper sets the little girl in his arms on her feet and extends a hand to me. “We sort of met but skipped the names part. I’m Ryder Cooper.”
Stupidly sexy name for a stupidly sexy, attached, unavailable, I-can’t-have-him man. But this is good. If I can’t have him, I can’t make any mistakes. I take his hand in mine and squeeze. “I’m Grace Bianchi.”
“Gracie is a tremendously talented artist. She owns The Body Shop next door.” Carol is oozing motherly charm and the kind of classic lack of subtlety that’s practically a requirement for entry into my ma’s lady friend group. “And Coach Cooper was just hired by Star Falls High…” She wrinkles her nose at him. “Remind me what you’re teaching?”
“I am a coach, but I’m not coaching this year,” he supplies. “Not officially.” He trails off, and his pretty eyes gather shadows. “This will be my first year back at work after some time off, so I’m keeping my schedule as flexible as I can until these knuckleheads are in school full time.”
He releases my hand and scoops the little girl back into his arm. “This is Cora,” he says, his voice sweeter than Chloe’s peanut butter crisps. “And my son, Luke. Can you two say hi?”
Cora is biting her lower lip and staring at me with eyes as sweet as her father’s. Her cheeks are full, and she’s got those tiny, perfect baby teeth.
“Hi, Cora,” I say.
“Hi,” Luke says. He’s holding the book Carol gave him in one hand, and he gives me a tentative smile. He looks at his dad with a grave expression. “Dad…”
Ryder lowers himself, groaning audibly as his knee pops. He tightens his hold on his daughter as he rests first one knee then the other on the brand-new flooring. “What is it, buddy?”
Luke ducks his head but never takes his eyes off me. He mumbles something in his dad’s ear, and Ryder chuckles. “You can ask her, buddy. Go ahead.”
The little boy looks at me with eyes that look nothing like his father’s. He must get those from his mom. He looks scared and his lips open like he wants to say something, but he just stands close to his dad, fisting the corner of Ryder’s short-sleeved shirt.
I’m no baby whisperer, but I figure the best way to talk to anyone is to get on their level. I kneel on the floor and set my coffee and my big purse on the floor by my knees.
“Let me guess,” I say, giving the kiddo my brightest smile. “Are you wondering about the pictures on my arms?”
Luke looks at his dad and then back at me with a tiny nod.
“I knew it.” I clap my hands softly. “Okay, look here.” I point with my right hand to the figures on my left arm. “Do you like animals?”
Little Luke nods, fully caught up in the moment. Even little Cora is watching, following where my finger is pointing.
“What does this look like to you?” I ask, tapping the colorful design on the top of my left forearm.
“A rabbit,” Luke blurts out, looking very proud of himself. “Two rabbits?”
I nod. “You’re right. A mama and a papa rabbit.” I figure that is a safe place to start, but then Luke steps closer to his dad.
“We don’t have a mama anymore,” he says. “Only my dad.”
A fist tightens around my heart, and I flick a look at Ryder. There’s something unreadable in his face, not grief or sadness, but something more resigned and weary. If these kids don’t have a mama, I’ve probably trod on tender ground, but I figure the best way to smooth over the moment is to just keep going.
“Look here. Do you know what this is?” I angle my arm awkwardly but give the little boy a view of the inside of my left bicep.
“It’s definitely a squirrel,” Luke says confidently.
