He straightens, stretching his arms over his head, shirt tugging up just enough to be distracting. I avert my eyes immediately, annoyed at myself.
“You sure this is the only thing you want fixed?” he asks. “Because I noticed the back door sticks a little.”
I sigh. “You noticed that?”
He shrugs. “I notice things.”
I think of the way he noticed Daisy’s breathing on the ambulance. The way he noticed my hands shaking before I noticed myself.
“That door has been sticking for months,” I admit.
He grins. “Lucky for you, I’m very good with stubborn things.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Careful.”
He laughs, low and easy, and the sound settles into my chest like something warm.
The morning rush hits soon after. Regulars trickle in, exchanging greetings, commenting on the weather. Brendon keeps to the back mostly, fixing shelves, adjusting hinges, staying out of the way but somehow present in every corner of the space.
I catch people noticing him. Curious looks. Speculative smiles.
Gigi comes in mid-morning, sunglasses perched on her head, scarf loose around her neck. Her eyes flick immediately to Brendon, then to me.
Oh no.
She waits until I bring her coffee, then leans in conspiratorially. “Is that who I think it is?”
I hiss under my breath. “Lower your voice.”
She grins wider. “So itis.”
“Gigi.”
“I’m not judging,” she says cheerfully. “I’m observing.”
From behind us, Brendon clears his throat. “Morning.”
Gigi turns like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. “Hi. I’m Gigi.”
He smiles politely. “Brendon.”
She offers her hand. “I’ve heard… stories.”
I glare at her.
He shakes her hand anyway, amused. “All good ones, I hope.”
She tilts her head, assessing him openly. “Depends who you ask.”
I set the coffee down harder than necessary. “Gigi.”
She laughs and raises her hands. “Kidding. Mostly. Abby deserves good things.”
Her gaze lingers on him for a beat longer, something unspoken passing between them. Then she sips her coffee and lets it go, mercifully.
When the rush dies down, Brendon joins me behind the counter, handing me a rag.
“You missed a spot,” he says lightly, nodding to a smudge of espresso grounds.
