“No! That’s the problem!”
We stood there in the hallway, both holding coffee cups, both realizing that we’d just made everything weird.
“We need better communication protocols,” Beau said finally.
“We need common sense,” I countered. “And maybe a shared calendar. Or smoke signals. Something.”
Beau pulled out his phone and typed into the group text:Just tried to bring Wynn coffee. Vance beat me to it. We need better coordination.
My phone buzzed with Dane’s response almost immediately:I was planning to drop off updated protocols this afternoon. Should I not?
I typed back quickly:How about we all give her some space for the rest of the day? Regroup tomorrow?
Beau’s message followed:Agreed.
Dane’s came last:Copy that.
“This is going well,” I said, pocketing my phone.
“We’ve known about her for less than a week and we’re already a disaster,” Beau agreed. “That has to be some kind of record.”
Despite the awkwardness, I found myself grinning. “At least we’re a coordinated disaster now.”
The next few days settled into a weird rhythm. We actually used the group text, which helped. Beau brought coffee on Monday and Wednesday mornings. I saved lunch spots when I knew Sable was working through meals, texting her recommendations without pushing her to actually meet up. Dane made himself available for tactical consultations without hovering.
We were present without being pushy. Helpful without being overbearing.
Or at least, that’s what we thought we were doing.
Turns out, we were still being weird.
I was restocking the ambulance five days after the coffee shop meeting when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
This is Sable Wynn. We need to talk. The Brew. Tonight at 7. Don’t bring the others.
I stared at the message, my sensitivity immediately picking up on my own spike of anxiety. This could go one of two ways: either she was about to tell me to back off, or she was giving me a chance to explain.
I hoped it was the latter.
I texted back:I’ll be there.
The Brew was quieter in the evening, the after-work crowd having mostly cleared out. I arrived at 6:55 and claimed a table near the back, giving us privacy without making it feel like we were hiding.
Sable walked in at exactly seven, because of course she did. Punctuality was probably programmed into her DNA along with the ability to run tactical scenarios in her sleep.
She spotted me immediately and made her way over, her expression carefully neutral.
“Silas.” She sat down across from me without waiting for an invitation.
“Should I get you coffee, or will that make things worse?”
A tiny smile threatened the corner of her mouth. “You can get me coffee. Just acknowledge that you’re getting it because I want it, not because you think I need taking care of.”
“Deal.” I stood and went to order, coming back with two oat milk lattes. “Oat milk, two sugars. Ordered because you indicated you wanted coffee, not because I think you’re incapable of hydrating yourself.”
That smile broke through properly this time. “You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s one of my better qualities.” I sat down and waited, letting her take the lead.
