She starts on the stitches, and her hands are steady now; her movements smooth. I observe her as she works. I noticed the other night that there was no ring on her finger. There’s no indent. If she ever had one, it was a long time ago.
She finishes the stitches and ties off the thread.
“When’s your break?”
She glances at her watch. “In about half an hour.”
“Have coffee with me.”
Her hand stills. “I don’t date.”
It seems like a rote response that she’s said a hundred times. I wonder how many men she’s had to bat away.
“It’s not a date.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I want to talk about your son.”
Her cheeks turn pink again, and she ducks her head. She’s embarrassed because she thought I was asking her out.
“The training center isn’t what you think. It could be good for him. Give me a chance to explain.”
She regards me warily, the single mama bear trying to figure out if I’m a threat to her bear cub.
I hold my hands up. “Or we can make it a date and talk about you.”
Her eyes narrow. “My break is in half an hour. Meet me in Stitches.”
“Stitches?”
“It’s the cafe in the atrium.”
Half an hour later we’ve got two coffees between us, and I’m distracted by the changing color of her eyes as we stare at each other across the table.
Last night I would have sworn they were green, but today they’ve got a blue tinge to them.
“I’m sorry I was distracted today.” She looks down at her coffee. “I’m not usually like that. I’m a good nurse.”
“I don’t doubt that. Did you get some bad news?”
“Something like that,” she mutters. “Tell me about this boxing gym.”
She says the words distastefully, and I chuckle. “It’s not a boxing gym, not that there’s anything wrong with those spaces.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s a training gym. It’s part of Jake’s Retreat. Have you heard of the veteran’s center?”
“Is it a recovery center?”
“That’s part of it. We have facilities for patients undergoing rehabilitation. I run the training gym. It’s a place for veterans to come and spar, and I run classes to sharpen their skills.”
She sips her coffee, and her expression softens. “Okay, that sounds legit. But why was my son there?”
“I’ve started a youth program. A place for older boys and young men to learn how to defend themselves.”
She snorts, still not trusting what I do, and I don’t blame her. Coming in with a split forehead doesn’t put the gym in the best light.
