Getting Acquainted
Natalie’s phoneflashed over twenty notifications for new text messages that had arrived since she got to work that morning. One was from her mother, asking if she’d adjusted back to the daily grind, and the rest, of course, were from Gavin. Her ex-boyfriend demanded to know if she’d made it back to New York safely, if the dog boarders took good care of Natalie’s (though Gavin insisted he had joint custody) dog, Nugget, if she’d gotten the flowers he’d sent to her parents’ house, if they could meet for coffee that night. The list of questions went on. Natalie deleted them all and tucked her phone beneath the desk at the nurses’ station.
Her first patient, the belligerent drug addict who was even angrier now that he realized he’d missed his flight, had been followed by less-exciting cases, but being on her feet the past three hours still left her exhausted and in need of coffee. The pot in the break room let grounds slip past the filter and was always stale by the time she needed a pick-me-up, but it was better than paying eight dollars for the twelve ounce lattes the fancy coffee shop across the street sold in waxed paper cups. Plus, she used to meet Gavin there on her breaks, and she was ready to delete all Gavin-related places from her list of city haunts.
Natalie dumped the morning’s pot down the sink and set a fresh one to brew. She sat in one of the plastic-backed chairs flanking a laminate table and slipped off her shoes, rubbing the soreness out of her heel.
“I can help you with that.”
Natalie turned to see the security guard, Colt, standing in the break room doorway—raven black hair in a low fade cut, tall and handsome, muscles like a Greek sculpture of an Olympian God—his shoulders almost touching each side of the door frame.
“It’s the least I can do. It’s my fault that guy had the opportunity to strike.”
“No, it’s not,” Natalie said, slipping her foot back into her shoe, suddenly self-conscious about her old tennis shoes. She wished she’d put on more perfume that morning. Or deodorant that wasn’t at the dregs of the stick. Or mascara. “We can blame Kaylin for that. How dare she ask you a question when you’re on duty.”
Colt’s eyes widened.
“I’m kidding,” Natalie said. “Totally joking.”
Colt visibly exhaled. “Almost had me. I’ve never done hospital security before last week.”
“You did great. He was much better behaved after that,” Natalie said, wiping her hands on her thighs as the coffee maker finished brewing into the pot. She gestured at another chair. “Wanna sit? This room isn’t just for nurses.”
Colt adjusted the holster cinched at his hips. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”
Natalie got him a mug from the cupboard. “So, you work for Rusty?”
“Yeah.” Colt watched her pour coffee into his cup. “You’re friends with him and his girl, right?”
“Kaylin,” Natalie said. “She’s my best friend.”
“Rusty and I grew up together in Texas. Enlisted together too. He got out before I did, joined SWAT, then started his private security firm. I’m glad to be a part of Redmond Guardian Service. It’s just the type of work I was looking for.”
“You just got out of the Army?” Natalie’s stomach grumbled, and she wished she’d brought a snack from home. She didn’t let herself touch anything from the vending machine—all of it over-sugared and over-salted junk. Kaylin could eat stuff like that all day and not worry about her figure. Natalie looked in the mirror and saw all hips, no matter what she ate or how many hours she sat in a spin class, pumping her legs till her thighs were on fire.
“Recently,” Colt replied. He opened the fridge and took out a brown lunch sack. “Transitioning back to civilian life hasn’t been easy; there isn’t much for me to do back in Texas so accepting Rusty’s offer to join his team was a no-brainer. Brooklyn, though. It’s a lot.”
“I get it,” Natalie said. “My family’s from Alabama, a little resort town on the coast. It fills up when people vacation but otherwise, pretty small.”
Colt took a croissant out of the bag and tore off a piece, letting crumb flakes fall down the front of his shirt. He wiped at them with his hand. “Want a piece?” He held the rest of the croissant out to her. “If there’s one thing the city has going for it, it’s the bakeries,” he said. “Got this one two blocks from here; amazing little French place. Macaroons. The whole nine yards.”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t get along with carbs.”
“No carbs?” Colt shook his head. “That hurts me, right here.” He patted his chest. “My parents own a German bakery. Kolaches. That sort of thing. My mom’s been mailing me loaves of bread ever since I left home. Even shipped them to Iraq. No idea how she kept them fresh, but the pastries made me popular in the barracks.”
“Carbs like me a little too much,” Natalie said. “Once I let them in, they don’t ever want to leave.”
“Like a bad ex.” Colt took another bite.
“You have no idea.” Natalie sipped her coffee. She added a packet of sweetener to her mug and sat back at the table.
“Your foot still sore?”
Natalie hesitated, then nodded. “It’s fine, though. I just have to get used to standing on my feet all day again.”
“Let me see.” Colt put the croissant back in the bag and patted his knee. “Put it here. It’s the least I can do.”
Natalie chewed her lip nervously, then slipped her foot out of her shoe. She rested her heel on his knee, hoping he wouldn’t judge the state of her worn out socks. She studied the tattoo snaking down Colt’s bicep. She could stand to shop for new underwear, bras . . . she couldn’t imagine a guy like him thinking anything of tattered cotton and stretched elastic except that the person wearing it must have given up on sex life long ago. That wasn’t entirely inaccurate, though; Gavin seemed to think that telling Natalie she was too thick before pinching a roll of her skin was foreplay. That didn’t stop him from texting her how much he missed her breasts, among other things. Gavin always did seem to want to parcel Natalie up into the parts of her he liked and the parts of her he didn’t. She’d never have gone into a bakery with him; he’d have made fun of her for ordering anything other than black coffee or a sliver of unbuttered toast.
