I rolled my eyes. “Fine. You’re bossy, you know that.”
“I am aware.” Of course, he was.
He offered his arm. I took it. I could walk in on crutches, but I didn’t mind that he was walking beside me. And I definitely didn’t mind that he was going to glare at anyone who looked at my knee the wrong way.
I pretended to sigh. Inside, though? I kind of loved it.
He drove. Of course, he did. I sat in the passenger seat pretending to be annoyed while he adjusted the air so it wasn’t blowing directly on my knee and reminded me twice not to rush when we arrived. I kept telling him I had done this job for years without executive supervision, but that didn’t seem to deter him.
When we pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, he was out of the car before I had even gathered my crutches.
“I can do it,” I muttered.
“I am aware,” he replied, already at my door.
That was becoming his refrain. I can. He knows. He helps anyway.
He offered his arm, not insistently, just there. I hesitated a fraction of a second before taking it. I tried not to get too excited at the feel of his arm as he helped me out of the car. I could have managed, but my knee was still stiff from the car ride, and I hated the small wobble that sometimes followed the first few steps.
So I let him help. And that was the problem. I was irritated with him for hovering, for inserting himself into my routine, for making me feel fragile in places I had worked very hard not to feel fragile.
And at the exact same time, I was falling for him.
The contradiction sat heavily in my chest as we made our way toward the door. I liked that he cared. I liked that he paid attention. I liked that he didn’t pretend my injury was minor just because I did.
But I also liked being capable. I liked being the one who handled things.
Trying to reconcile those two truths was like trying to balance on crutches on uneven ground. Sure, it was possible, even if it was awkward and slightly terrifying.
Inside, the familiar smell of espresso wrapped around me. It felt good to be here. I’d missed working the coffee counter and pursuing the used books on my break.
James waved from behind the counter. “Hey, superstar. You sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m sitting,” I said. “And bossing people around.”
“Thanks for coming in.”
Raphael lingered a few feet back, taking everything in with quiet assessment. He didn’t interfere. He didn’t introduce himself as my husband or start issuing instructions. He justwatched while I settled onto the stool behind the register and propped my crutches nearby.
“I will be in the corner,” he said quietly to me. “If you require assistance.”
“I will not.”
“I will be in the corner regardless.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me.
The shift was manageable. Orders, small talk, and ringing up regulars. I could sit for most of it, pivoting carefully when I needed to reach for cups or napkins. My knee protested occasionally, but not enough to undo me.
About an hour in, the bell above the door chimed, and Robin walked in. Robin was one of my teammates. She was also one of the most observant and opinionated women I knew. Her green eyes could see right into your soul.
She spotted me immediately. Her gaze dropped to the brace, then flicked to Raphael, who was standing near the window pretending not to look like a bodyguard. Her eyebrows lifted.
“Okay,” she said slowly, stepping up to the counter. “What is happening here?”
“Coffee shop,” I replied lightly. “You’ve been to one before, yes?”
She didn’t smile. “I mean with him.”
