He leans back. “So what do you plan to do?”
“Nothing.” I scroll aimlessly. “Not my place.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
I shoot him a look. “This is different.”
“It just is?” he asks. “Come on, man.”
I press my palm to my forehead. “She’s got a kid, a business, complicated. Last thing she needs is me barging in.”
Decker nods slowly. “Wow. You really like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No need.” He stands. “By the way, Pike’s Perk is handling the board meeting catering. You wanted to double-check delivery?”
I seize the lifeline. “Right. I should swing by, make sure everything’s set.”
“Good call.” He smirks and heads out. “Very responsible of you.”
“Shut up,” I mutter after the click of the door.
I stare at my phone again, thumb hovering. She probably needs space, but what if she needs help? What if I’m the only one she’d call?
Before I can overthink it, I grab my keys and slip out the door. “Tell Trent I’m checking on the catering,” I call over Decker’s shoulder. His casual “Uh-huh” trails me down the hall.
Twenty minutes later I'm at Pike's Perk, adrenaline buzzing through my veins as I weave past the last of the morning crowd, laptop warriors and retirees nursing lattes. Sadie’s at the register, head bent over receipts, oblivious to me.
When she finally looks up, there’s that flicker of recognition, her eyes widening for a heartbeat before her professional mask slides back into place. But I see the weariness lurking beneath, like a wound she’s barely patched.
“Morning,” I say, voice light. “Thought I’d swing by to confirm the catering details for next week.”
She nods and reaches under the counter for a folder. Her movements are precise but shaky; I notice the tremor in her hands when she pulls out the order confirmation.
“Everything’s set for Thursday at eight,” she says, sliding the paper toward me. “Just need your signature here.”
I take the pen and let my fingers brush hers. Then, almost imperceptibly, I catch her hand and hold it for a single extra second. Sadie freezes. Her shoulders lock, a tiny tremor running through her fingers.
“Hey,” I whisper so only she can hear, “are you okay?”
Her gaze lifts, startled. She glances around the café, walls tensing back into place. “I’m fine,” she says, voice tight. “Just… tired.”
I keep looking at her, softly, insistently, until she looks back. She swallows, then nods once.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice low, “for last night.”
I release her hand. “Anytime.” I sign the form, aware of how she watches my handwriting, how she shifts closer even as her eyes flick away.
“I should probably have your number,” I say, casual. “In case the order changes… or for the next open mic night.”
She hesitates, guard and longing warring in her eyes. After a moment, she nods. “Okay.”
I hand her my phone, unlocked to a blank contact. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and I feel the spark. She keys in her number, slow on purpose. Her fingertips graze my palm as she hands the phone back, and I catch her wrist for a second, thumb pressing into her pulse. I could pull her closer, see how she tastes, but I settle for letting her feel the heat in my stare. Sooner or later, that wall will crack.
“I should get back to work,” she says, nodding toward the espresso machine.
“Of course.” I tuck the phone away, smiling. “See you Thursday, Sadie.”
