I just stare at him.
“What is that?” I ask.
“What is what, sweetie?” Mom asks, makingmejump this time.
I put the phone up to my ear.
“Oh, sorry, Mom. Uh, I have a delivery I forgot about. I need to go.”
Lucas looks relaxed holding the drink carrier, his expression easy. Natural. But his bright blue eyes see too much.
Mom makes a heavy exhale. “Okay. Just call me if you need me. I have a hundred sick days banked over the last ten years.”
She’s trying so hard, but looking at Lucas, I can't care the way I should that I'm shutting her down.
“Save them for when you have another grandbaby, Mom. Snotty babies are cuter than snotty grown-ups,” I say with a smile I hope she can hear. “I gotta run. Love you.”
“Okay. I’ll check back in soon. Love you, Scottie girl.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
The quiet that follows feels heavy. Loaded.
Lucas takes the drink carrier into the kitchen and sets it down on the counter like the smell of coffee isn’t replacing all the air in my condo.
He pulls one cup out and slides it toward me.
My fingers wrap around the cup automatically. The heat sinks into my palms, slow and steady.
I inhale.
It smells so good.
So right.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I say, even as I lift it closer.
“Do you ever?” he asks archly.
I take a sip.
The warmth hits before the caffeine. Then—unexpectedly—the tightness in my shoulders loosens, just a fraction.
I exhale.
Lucas doesn’t watch me drink. He shoos Pinto off the counter, grabs a cloth from the sink, and wipes the countertops down, as if Pinto won’t just dirty them up again in two minutes. The black cat walks around his feet, brushing against him and meowing.
I take another sip. I don’t say thank you. I’m too busy drinking liquid comfort.
“What’s this one called?”
“Depends,” he says, although it clearly doesn’t. “Does it fit your mood?”
I stop and let the taste linger on my tongue, only swallowing once I can pinpoint caramel and toasted sugar. “Yeah. I think it does. Why?”
“Just a theory I’ve had that you confirmed when you were high on pain meds. You don’t have a favorite drink.”
“I admitted that under duress.” I hold the cup in front of my face, the last layer of my defense. “And you shouldn’t have asked.”
