“She is.” I smiled. Our conversation was finally flowing. “She raised me on her own after my dad left us. I think… I don’t know;I think it messed her up. She never remarried, just focused on making sure I had everything I needed.”
“Why did he leave? If I may ask.”
“Yeah, well...” I shrugged, trying for casual, even though the ache still throbbed. “He said he wasn’t cut out for family life.”
“Fucking coward.” The venom in his voice was so sharp and unexpected that it startled me. “He isn’t cut out to be a man.” Dom wasn’t looking at me anymore, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, jaw clenched. “Some things you don’t get to walk away from.”
“It’s fine. Really. Mom and I did fine without him.”
Before he could respond, a server appeared—a middle-aged, friendly face, wearing a holiday apron with tiny reindeer.
“Well, well,” she grinned, setting down our order. “Look who’s back!”
I laughed, though my stomach dropped to my toes. She remembered yesterday. Of course she did. And now here I was, less than twenty-four hours later, with a different man. I didn’t realize they remembered their customers.
Her gaze flicked from me to Dom and back again. “You know, I’ve served a lot of couples passing through Hope Peak,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper so only I could hear. “Most of ‘em look past each other. This one,” she nodded toward Dom. “You’ve got a man who listens with his eyes.” She gave my shoulder a little pat before winking. “That’s a good sign.”
My face went nuclear. It was one thing to feel it, but another for a complete stranger to see it so plainly. To see the way he looked at me and call it a ‘good sign’ instead of a warning.
“Oh, we’re—”
She leaned over again. “He looks at you when you talk.”
When she walked away, and I turned to face Dom, his eyes were already sparkling with trouble.
“Let me guess,” he said. “She told you I'm husband material.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “She did not!”
“Shame. I was hoping she'd mention how you should wife me up before I get away.”
“Stop.” My face burned hotter than the coffee scalding my tongue.
He threw his hands in mock surrender, his shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to contain his laughter.
I want to make him laugh like this every day.
He took a breath, the last of his laughter fading into a warm smile. “So,” he said, “what do you actually do? Besides coffee runs.”
“I’m an admin assistant.”
“That tells me nothing.” He teased. “Lawyers are ambitious people. What’s that like to work with all day?”
I fidgeted with my fork. “I don’t really work with the lawyers much. Not directly, I mean. More with... people. Clients calling in, usually upset about something.”
“Upset how?”
“Angry. Confused. Sometimes both.” I took a bite of toast, thinking. “Usually because their lawyer hasn’t explained things properly, but sometimes the lawyers are too busy to break it down in ways that make sense.”
His expression shifted. “And you do?”
“I just… I know what it feels like not to be seen or heard. To feel like you’re just a number on someone else’s big, important day.” I paused, surprised I was saying this out loud. “So when I take calls, I try to be the person I need to be on the other end of the line. Someone who actually listens. Someone who makes them feel like a person… like they matter, even for five or ten minutes.”
Dom stared at me, mouth slightly parted.
“What?”
“Nothing.” But his voice had gone soft. “You’re not what I expected.”
