I walk to him, ignoring everything else. “Hey, are you okay?” I whisper, but it still takes him by surprise. I resist the urge to touch his face, as if somehow feeling his skin under my fingertips would make me feel like I'm helping.
He looks torn.
“What’s wrong?”
He searches the room, his eyes landing on my friends and the kids before he shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m going to browse for a second.”
I nod. “Those are my friends, and they don’t need me right now. If you do, I’m here.” I offer him a soft smile, trying not tocome on too strong, allowing time for him to settle, to know I’m here but also with enough space to let him breathe.
“Could I have some coffee?”
“Of course.” We walk side by side to our usual spot, him on the chair and me behind the counter. I don’t ask if he wants me to surprise him; I can tell he does. He deserves a hug in a mug, so I make my comfort coffee—brown sugar cinnamon mocha with a dollop of cold foam and a handful of chocolate sprinkles on top for smiles. Sprinkles always make people smile, and when I slide the mug in front of him, that’s exactly what he does.
“Cute.”
“Thanks. I really like this outfit.” My hands brush over my denim overalls as I wink at him, making him chuckle this time.
“I meant the coffee, but you look cute too, as usual.”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.” It worked—it earned me a smile.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t grab his drink either. He stares, his gaze burning right through me. I feel his sadness in my core, and it’s almost too hard to handle. Almost.
Grief has the illusion of being more manageable when it’s carried, and I’ve found the same with most hardships. Sometimes, all we need is to know we’re not alone and that we’re seen, even if there’s nothing we can do about it. “I’m here if you need anything.”
“I need a minute. Thanks for the coffee.” He holds the mug close to his lips and takes a sip, closing his eyes, letting his long, thick lashes brush his cheeks. Of course, he has perfect lashes; isn’t that every man’s life? We women pay good money to have beautiful, full lashes like this man.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper, picking Vero up after leaving Holden behind in solitude with his coffee.
“Who is that, Natalie Catalina?” Cara wiggles her eyebrows.
“That’s the guy from the other day,” Allie whispers.
“Not my name, Cara. And he’s a client named Holden.”
“Interesting. Do you rush to meet all your clients at the door?”
Watch it, I mouth, taking a seat next to them and letting Vero get comfortable in my lap. She hands me a book, opening it so there’s no question about what she wants me to do. “He’s a repeat one. I see him often, and we talk, that’s all. He looks kinda sad—” I look his way to make sure he can’t hear me, but he’s lost in the coffee between his hands “—I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“What’s his deal?”
“Today or in general?”
They both shrug.
“He’s easy to talk to, and I think we’re friends now?” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe? We went for ice cream last night when you had the girls, Allie.”
Their eyes are impossibly wide.
“Just ice cream, and we talked. He has lost some people too.”
Allie squeezes my hand, her honey eyes softening. “Is it easier? To talk about Nick with someone who understands?”
I consider her question. Allie has always been the empathetic but logical one in our group. It’s easy for her to keep her objectivity and see things beyond what’s in front of her. Except that one time years ago when she completely missed the fact that Jake, her now husband, would’ve done anything for her.
I struggle answering her question, because they have lost Nick too, so why is it different with Holden?
“No, not really. There’s a shared space for us who have lost fundamental people.” I kiss Vero’s head. “It’s like I know he understands without having to explain. I don’t know if that even makes sense.”
