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Welp.
Guess there was a reason for that imminent spider feeling that’s been churning in my belly like a runaway train for weeks.
Good luck is a mirage.
Fool’s gold, plain and simple.
Raking my hair back, I twist my lips, tallying up what I spent on this—not just the invoice cost of the mugs, but also the table with the giant crack down the middle, the floorboards I just replaced after those pricks who were after my best friend Libby scratched the whole place up. And now there’s a bunch of gouges in the freshly laid honey-toned ash wood.
Yikes.
I’m not trying to take this guy for every penny when he’s such a gentleman, but I just don’t have the cash to cover this. If he doesn’t mind helping out, then I’ll gratefully take it.
I can’t lose the business.
I can’t.
No one wants to come to a grubby, dingy coffee shop with splintered-up floorboards, even if I’m the only real coffee game in town besides the diner.
Opening my mouth, I turn back to Alaska—only for all the blood that was rushing through me to practically drain right out as I see the wet, dark cascade running down the leg of his jeans.
Blood.
There’s a rip in his denim. A shard of ceramic embedded just below his kneecap, bristling hair and swarthy skin showing past the torn, blood-soaked fabric.
Dear God.
And he’s just standing there looking at me curiously like he doesn’t feel it.
“Um.” I stare at his leg. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Huh?” He looks down, blinking, then frowns and bends to pluck the shard out like it’s nothing but a pesky mosquito.
I have to look away, wincing.
But when I turn back, he’s dropping the bloodied shard on the ground and peeling back the ripped denim to get a better look at the pinkish gash in his flesh.
“Nah. Looks worse than it is. Nicked an artery, I guess, so that’s why it’s bleeding like a faucet. I hardly feel it,” he growls warmly.
I squint at him. “You sure you’re not just doing the man thing?”
He surprises me with a hearty, booming laugh, deep and rolling like all the walls of my heart collapsing in a tumble of boulders.
Crap.
Crap.
Also, crap.
I’m not supposed to be noticing how handsome he is.
I still value my life, after all.
“I’m fine. I promise,” he says. Those mahogany eyes sizzle, and he looks at me like he already knows me and cares that I might be worried about him. “You don’t have a personal injury lawsuit on your hands, Miss...it’s Felicity, right?”
“Um. Yes. But no! That’s not what I’m worried about. I just...would you at least let me clean that up so you don’t get an infection?” I gesture faintly to the corridor in the back, leading to my office. “I’ve got a first aid kit back there. We can talk about the damages, too.”
He considers me thoughtfully, then nods with an amused rumble. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?” My eyebrows lift.
“You tell this one where he’ll find the broom closet.” He jerks a thumb at Eli.
“Hey!” Eli thrusts his lower lip out. “Dad!”
“No Dad,” Alaska says, even if the twitch of his lip says he’s trying not to laugh. “You sweep. I go let the pretty lady bandage me up and bail your butt out. That’s the deal.”
Nope.
I’m not blushing because he called me pretty lady.
Not at all.
Though I’m definitely glad for the excuse to jet as I duck into the back and grab a broom and industrial-sized dustpan, then march them back out for Eli.
“Careful,” I say. “It’s almost taller than you.”
He sticks his tongue out playfully. “Dad says I’m in my growth phase. I’m only twelve. I’ll get bigger.”
“Dad says less trying to be cute to avoid work, and more sweeping, boy.” Alaska ruffles his son’s hair with clear affection, making Eli grin before tossing his head my way. “C’mon. Let’s talk and maybe after I’ll grab a drink. I hear the owner makes a pretty good cold brew.”
“Sure brew!” I chirp. “Sure do, I mean. Uh, you knew that.”
When did I get so tongue-tied? And where’s my awkward turtle trophy?
Okay. Right. My office.
It’s just a few minutes.
It’s just being stuck in a teeny, enclosed space with the man I’ve crushed on since last year.
The same man who’s suddenly making my palms so sweaty they’ll probably slip on something.
I’ve got this.
I’ve got it.
At least I’ve got my regularly scheduled disaster out of the way, though.
So why do I still have this tight dread in my chest that tells me there’s something even worse on the way?
Even with the music flowing, I feel like everyone in the café watches as Alaska and I head into my office.
Peace moving into her next song doesn’t distract much from the bedlam that just went down. The Nest is half emptied out.
Then again, I’m pretty sure a few of the death glares are from the single lady squad. They’re here in force tonight, putting aside their bitter feelings for me because Peace’s concerts make the perfect atmosphere to meet men.
