Before she can answer, Leander bursts through the open door of the loft, cheeks pink, holding two iced coffees and a pastry bag.
“Ms. Claire! I didn’t want you going to work hungry just because you’re resting more now.” He stops, sees Grace, and beams. “Hi, Ms. Grace! Sven says hi. He’s prepping for the lunch rush.”
Grace’s laugh is warm. “Tell him I want the excellent olives this time.”
“I will!” He pauses, then adds proudly, “The store will open soon. I stayed late last night to alphabetize the new shipment by genre and author, as you taught me.”
“Leander, that’s wonderful, but please do not stay too late, okay?” I say, touched. “You’re helping me so much, and I don’t want you to burn out.”
He glows at the praise. “It’s because you trusted me first, and I promise to pay attention to my hours.”
Erik steps into view then, and Leander straightens unconsciously, like a rookie soldier seeing a general. “Sir,” he says, nodding respectfully.
Erik nods back. “Good work.”
Leander looks like he’s been handed a medal.
Leander disappears after dropping off the hot beverages. Erik had asked him to get them for us, and then Erik stepped into his office down the hall so Grace and I could visit.
Grace reaches across and squeezes my hand. “You’re loved here,” she whispers. “Don’t forget it.”
My chest aches with something warm and fragile and real.
Erik
Grace leaves, and I walk her to her car in the loft’s parking lot, noting the new security guard I stationed in the lobby two days ago. Nothing reaches Claire unless I allow it.
When I return to the loft, Claire is curled on the kitchen stool, sunlight haloing her hair, her shoulders relaxed from the morning routine. She’s a little fuller now, in body, yes, but also in presence. She moves with a quiet confidence she didn’t have nearly three months ago.
It does something to me. She hands me my coffee. “I feel wonderful today.”
“You look lovely today,” I answer simply.
She blushes. My phone buzzes. A message from Leif.
LEIF: I'm feeling unwell. Staying home today.
I study the text. Leif never gets sick. But I… have been healing fast as of late. Faster than I recall. Initially, I believedI was adhering to a healthier diet because Claire and I were preparing meals at home more frequently. Except last month, after Claire fed me during a particularly heavy, stressful day, the bruise on my ribs from training healed in half the usual time.
An idea presents itself, unbidden and undeniable.
I text Leif:
ERIK: I’m stopping by with something.
He replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
Claire watches my expression. “Everything okay?”
“Leif is sick.”
Concern darkens her eyes. “Oh no… what can we do?”
I swallow. “Give me two eight-ounce bottles. Ideally, they should come from this morning's pumping session.”
She hesitates. “For him?”
“Yes.”
