I watch the clock on the old microwave. Ten minutes. If I know her, she’ll be here in five. Always early. Considerate. Worried about everyone else. About making an impression.
I sip my black coffee while pouring a cup for her. I add the vanilla creamer, three sugars, and a spoonful of caramel. Do I still know her coffee by heart? Yes.
Even after seven years, I can still practically taste the caramel on her lips from the last time I kissed her.
Five minutes.
A knock sounds and I smile as I set my cup on the counter, then amble over to the door. I take a deep breath before opening it, revealing the woman who has no idea how much she means to me. Her hair is pulled back, her blue eyes bright against her skin. She looks gorgeous. I scan my eyes over her scrubs, the lavender color making my lips twitch.Her favorite color.
“Are you going to invite me in or just stand there staring?”
Her voice snaps me out of my daze. I shift to the right, waving my hand. “Come on in.”
She steps past me, one hand clutching a bag slung over her shoulder, and surveys the space. I close the door, waiting for any sign of reaction. This loft holds memories. Ones I could never forget. Her eyebrows furrow when she lands her gaze on the couch. The very one that held our first kiss.
She clears her throat, tearing her eyes away.
Ah, there it is. She remembers.
“We will need to move that.” She motions to the couch.
She can’t even say it.
“The couch?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Yep.” She pilfers through her bag. “We need an open space for your exercises.”
“Give me a sec.” I cross the room, then tip my chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Your coffee is on the counter. Drink while I do this.”
Her hands still. “You made me coffee?”
“Even has caramel.”
She stands up. “You don’t need to make my coffee.”
“Why not?” I widen my stance, shoving the couch across the old wood floors.
“I’m not here for a coffee date.”
“When have I ever taken you on a coffee date?” I ask with a chuckle.
Her glare has me rising to my full height.
“There is nothing between us but this patient/provider status. Let’s not stroll down memory lane. The view is overrated.”
Damn, Firefly.
“Not the way I remember it,” I comment, taking a step toward her.
She rips her eyes from mine, her hands diving back into her bag with purpose. “I barely remember those summers, Parker. We were children.”
She whips out a couple of bands, the rubber tangling together as she fumbles them with frustration. I stare at her with amusement, my arms crossing as I watch her squirm. She remembers. I know she does. The stain on her cheeks gives her away. It always has.
With taut shoulders, she turns to face me. “Wipe the smirk off your face, Parker, and get down on your knees.”
I drop my arms, a twitch appearing behind my zipper at her command, along with the memory of all the times this woman has brought me to my knees.
Taking a large stride, I do exactly what I’m told and kneel on the wood floor right at her feet before I meet her eyes and quip. “Yes, ma’am.”
