But when the prettiest woman I have ever seen looks me up and down, seemingly liking what she sees, an ember of hope ignites in me.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” I gesture to the bakery, and she looks longingly at the sign, then back to me. “There’s a shop down the street. I’d like to buy you a coffee as an apology for the slush. We can ask them for a towel to help you dry your pants, and you can tell me about your terrible day.”
I can see the moment she sinks inside of herself, and my heart kicks up, wanting to step closer to her, to tilt her chin up and beg her not to run away.
“It’s just a cup of coffee, no pressure. But I mean, I will leave here feeling like shit if you don’t let me try to make it up to you. Please,” I add at the end, remembering my manners.
She smiles at that, not a full-fledged smile, but her pretty pink lips crack to reveal a perfect set of teeth. “Way to lay the guilt on me.” Her eyes, while they’re still brimming with tears, have a slight sparkle to them with her teasing tone.
“I never said I was proud of it.” When she doesn’t say no, I gesture with my hand toward Madame Muffin. “No pressure, but you look like you could use a little pick me up.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, she nods once before she twists and takes the first step toward the shop. As soon as she moves, her foot catches on a hidden patch of ice, nearly sending her flying backward into the snow bank. My arms fly out, wrapping one around her back to catch her from behind as my other goes to reach for her forearm. Both of her hands come to grip the collar of my wool coat.
She pulls herself to me as my grip tightens, and I hold her nearly flush to my chest, so close I can feel her soft breaths on my chin. The forced proximity is almost too much. I can smell the lingering scent of her perfume, or maybe it’s her shampoo. Something that’s fresh, reminds me of summertime, and it’s a warmth to my core on a shitty day like this.
She gradually loosens her grip on the collar of my coat and her mitted hands smooth down the fabric. “Sorry,” she murmurs, and I’m already nodding.
“Not a problem. Here.” I offer my elbow. “Hold onto me so you don’t trip again.”
She looks down at my arm hesitantly, and I wait, keeping it extended for an awkward amount of time. I’m just about to rest it at my side and gesture for her to go ahead when she curls her arm around the inside of my elbow, and rests her hand on my forearm. I tuck my arm tightly to my side to secure her grip, and we take that first tentative step.
We don’t say anything as we walk the half a block or so to Madame Muffin. I keep my eyes steeled in front of us, watching her steps, making sure she isn’t going to slip again. When I reach for the handle and open the door, a welcomed burst of heat greets us. Soft piano music filters out from the overhead speakers, and the smell of fresh ground coffee mixed with sugar infiltrates my senses. I gesture for her to walk in first, and she releases her hold on my arm, my body immediately missing her warmth.
She stomps her feet on the thick black mat that sits in front of the door, and I do the same, doing my best to shake the snow from me. I look down, noticing that she’ssoaked from the splash earlier. From midthigh to her feet, her scrubs are practically dripping.
“Wait here for a moment, please,” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder.
I move to the counter and lean over to ask for a few towels from the barista. With a knotted brow, they disappear into the back, returning with a handful of cleaning rags.
I mutter a thanks and bring them back to my new friend, squatting low to start squeezing the water from her pants. I keep my touch light and appropriate, desperate to not touch her skin anywhere above her ankle. The towels are quickly drenched, doing their job of soaking up the snow.
When I move to the second leg, I peek a glance up, and she’s staring down at me. She removed her winter hat at some point, and a few strands of her hair have fallen free from their braid. The lights of the coffee shop are shining above her, filtering through her blonde hair and creating a halo.
She looks like a goddamn angel.
I stand to my full height, and her gaze follows me. She swallows thickly before whispering a rough thank you, and I nod.
She doesn’t say much else as we order our coffee. I make sure to pay for hers before she can reach into her purse, and when I hand over my card, I tell the barista that I’m here to pick up Harper’s cake.
Once we’ve ordered, we move down to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks. She looks around the space, eyeing the guests seated at some of the smaller tables, and I watch her.
Her face is pale and faint dark circles swoop under her eyes. She’s naturally beautiful, there’s no doubt about that, but there’s a pain lying beneath the surface, one she alluded to earlier, and one that I can’t stop myself from asking about. When the barista slides two cups of steaming coffee in front of us, I finally work up some courage. “So, how come today is the worst day of your life?”
Her head whips to face me, and the cup of coffee that she was bringing to her lips pauses halfway. She eyes me for a second then blows the steam from her cup, bringing it to her mouth for a slow sip. “I’m probably just being dramatic. Forget I said anything.”
I bring my own coffee to my lips, ready to call her on her bullshit. “I don’t buy that. I’m not asking out of obligation; I’m asking because I genuinely want to know.”I saw her face when I first bumped into her, something has wrecked her.
She eyes me for a moment, confusion knotting her brow as if she doesn’t understand what I mean. “You don’t know me. Why would you even bother?”
The words aren’t mean, and I don’t sense the least bit of irritation as she speaks. It’s like she wouldn’t expect someone to ask about her, to wonder about her, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
“You’re right,” I tell her, taking another sip of coffee. “I don’t know you, but I’d sure like to.”
Her face breaks out in a smile, one big enough that the apples of her cheeks rise, and it feels like I just won something.
“I just got off a bad shift.”
“Are you a nurse?”
