I hook the bag of beans with my pinky while doing a split squat. There’s an inch or so left in the bag, so I grind myself an extra-big helping of coffee. Tomorrow won’t be as fresh as I like, but I can’t be doing this every day on one leg.
When I try to scoop the brown splendor into my coffeemaker, my shaking hands spill half of it on the counter, into the sink, onto my shirt. The spoon clatters to the floor, and I just stare at it.
I think about Lia, about how fiercely I took care of her when she first got sick. How I researched every treatment option, tracked her symptoms in spreadsheets, went to every doctor appointment, demanding answers until we got her Crohn’s diagnosis. Then I helped her learn to cook bland foods that wouldn’t upset her stomach.
I’d have done anything for her. Would still do anything for her.
But I can’t even make myself coffee.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. I just want to work on my product launch and be left alone in my office where I don’t have to think about other humans.
I close my eyes and try to breathe through the frustration, the pain, and the bone-deep exhaustion of simply existing in this body right now.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
For a wild moment I think it might be Lia, that she ignored my text and came home, anyway. But Lia would just let herself in. And there’s no way she and Ethan would cut their getaway short—they haven’t had a night alone since Porter was born.
Anyway, I know who’s at the door before I even haul myself onto the crutches. I’m too tired to hide, so I crutch to the door and open it.
Eva stands on my porch, holding a large paper bag from the Quick Lick, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and an oversized hoodie she apparently bought from the Udderly Creamy Dairy. She looks younger in bright daylight, softer somehow, and my traitorous brain immediately catalogues how gorgeous she is before I can stop it.
She waits comfortably, unburdened and smiling, like showing up with breakfast for an injured neighbor is the most natural thing in the world.
Like she’s never had to calculate the cost of kindness.
I want to be the kind of person who can accept this. Who doesn’t immediately wonder what she wants in return, what angle she’s working, what will happen when she finds out I’m not worth the effort. I saw it all the time when Lia was sick…creeps trying to manipulate her while she was vulnerable. Instead, I grunt and frown.
“Morning,” she says, holding up the bag. “I brought breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you like, so I just got a lot of things.”
I stare, my brain struggling to process why she’s smiling at me like we’re friends, why she cares.
“Can I come in?” she asks when I don’t move.
I step back awkwardly, nearly tangling my crutches, and she slips past me into my house. Eva looks around with obvious curiosity, taking in the sparse furniture, the dark walls, the general monk aesthetic I’ve cultivated over the years.
“Your house is nice,” she says, setting the bag on my counter. “It, uh, looks like you had an adventure in here this morning, though.”
“Adventure is one word for it.” My voice sounds mean even to me, but to be fair, I’m in pain and have not had coffee.
To my horror and relief, Eva smiles, that berry-red mouth curving up to reveal teeth that are slightly crooked. She has freckles on her nose, too, and I want to count them just as soon as my leg stops throbbing.
“Well, sir, I’ve got something that will cheer you up.” She pulls items from the bag—breakfast sandwiches, hash browns, and a large coffee. “The cashier at the Quick Lick was kind of weird,” Eva continues, conversationally. “She kept asking questions about you. Whether you were okay, how bad the injury was, if you needed help… I think the whole town knows.”
Great. Exactly what I wanted.
Eva pushes a coffee toward me. “Here. You look like you need this.”
I do need it. Desperately. I take a sip before my brain engages enough to check if it’s full of sugar or cream, and?—
It’s perfect. Black, strong, hot.
Eva watches me with an amused expression. “You just drank that immediately. Like, didn’t even check it. Does that mean you drink it black?”
“Yes.”
“Gross.”
I take another sip.
