Page 8 of Just Ten Seconds

—Mara

When the nurse comes back, I ask her to give them the note and if she wouldn’t mind arranging for a cab to take them home. She looks like she wants to ask questions, probably why I’m ditching the people she believes to be my family, but I walk myself out of the building and into my car before she can utter a word.

I’m back at the café in moments.

The rain has stopped, but the clouds are lurking with the sunshine trying to break through. As I walk through the café toward the employee section, Jackie rushes to my side.

“What the hell was that?” she gasps.

“I told you I’d be right back.” I walk past her and into the restroom where I need to wash my hands before serving food to customers.

She stops in the doorway and places a hand on her hip. “You dropped to the floor in a PTSD episode, and the next minute, you’re rushing out the door to help two complete strangers.”

I pause at her bluntness. It’s one of her greatest qualities. It can also be her most disarming.

“I don’t know what came over me,” I state honestly.

She crosses her arms and shrugs. “I do. You were being classic you. No. I’ll rephrase. You were being the classic old you. The one who needs to help people. I just haven’t seen you rush to action like that in … well, a long time.”

I turn to the sink with a shake to my head. “Let’s not make a big deal of it. I was just paying it forward for all the times you’d helped me. You know Karma can be a bitch, and I’d like to keep her on my side.”

I glance at her in the mirror and note the way she’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. She’s assessing my mood, as she has done every day since she barged into my apartment, pulled me off the floor, and carried me out of the city and into her home.

“I’m fine,” I reiterate.

She gives a curt, deep breath and puts her hands up in defense. “Fine. If you’re fine, I’m fine. We’re all fine.” With her hands on her hips, she gives a little sway. “As was the hot, single dad. He was fine.”

I drop my shoulder and give her a scowl in the mirror. She sees my reflection and rolls her eyes.

“He just barged in here with his kid, and damn, my ovaries exploded. Did yours too? Of course they did. You’re human. Did he ask for your number?” she asks.

“He was a bit concerned with his injured child, not looking for a date.” I lather my hands and scrub. “How do you even know he’s single?”

“If he had a wife, he would have called her. Did he call her when you went to the urgent care?”

“I don’t even think he had a phone on him.”

“He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring,” she says with a satisfied grin.

“Maybe he doesn’t like jewelry.” I look down as the suds run off my hands and hear the tapping of her foot on the floor. With a rise of my shoulders, I add, “He didn’t have a wife listed on his insurance card.”

She claps her hands in glee. “I love it when I’m right. So, hot dad is hot, single dad!”

I turn off the water and dry my hands, ignoring her as I try to hide how that little tidbit of information satisfies me as well. Not that I’d do anything. My life is not conducive to a relationship. I have too many skeletons, too much hurt, and a shit-ton of guilt.

And yet, just thinking about Dean, the way he protected and cared for his child, pleading with his eyes to have her pain—his pain—taken away …

I remove my apron, grab a clean one from a nearby shelf, and lace it around my waist, all while wondering what kind of woman would leave such a man. Maybe he left her. Maybe there never was a she.

The fact that I’m even pondering this is insane.

“It’s time you moved on, Mara.”

Her words stop me short with my hand in the air as it’s passing over the string of my apron while I tie it around my back.

“Jackie—”

“It’s been two years.”