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It’s funny because I ordered the bourbon to relax. I didn’t need a stiff drink to help with the rough week. I just needed to spend a little time with Tuesday again to brighten my day.
I know how selfish it sounds, and I would never voice this aloud, but I judged her all wrong. I’m not discounting the unprovoked attack, but I’m just as guilty for responding. I should have ignored her, especially considering her mood matched mine. I never intended for that conversation to end differently than it did—poorly. But even then, something about her made it really fucking hard to resist.
There still is . . .
I’m in so much trouble.
10
Loch
I wanted to be the first one here, to be here when she arrived. You never know what this place may trigger, and it wouldn’t be good for her to go through that alone.
I finally reach the block and slow down to catch my breath but pick up my pace again when the SUV pulls to the curb up ahead. I reach the shop just as she steps out of the vehicle.
She may think the “classics” are boring, but she looks beautiful in the black pants and shirt. The wind catches, and the fabric flutters against her skin. Even in flats, she’s sophisticated and just as beautiful as last night.
Focus on why we’re here and not the woman.
Unfortunately, they’re one and the same as her demeanor takes a downturn when she looks at the building ahead. It’s written all over her body language from the lip she’s biting to the way she’s clasping her hands so tightly together as if she’ll fall apart if she doesn’t.
As soon as she sees me, a smile that could light up the skyline breaks through her worries. “Hi,” she says as I approach her.
I give Brady a wave, but I think he’s laughing too hard to notice, making it obvious that he knows I ran to get here. Whatever. Turning to Tuesday, I say, “Good morning. How are you doing?”
“I’m good.” Her eyes leave our surroundings and meet mine briefly. “I think.”
“You sure you’re ready to do this?”
She shrugs as she scans the coffee shop. Then her eyes go to the wall near the window, and she asks, “That’s where I was attacked?” When her gaze pivots to me for an answer, I decide right then not to lie to her. She deserves the truth about the memory she carries forward instead of trying to protect her by creating a prettier picture.
“Yes. You’d just come from inside and took a right. I don’t know if you stopped, or he grabbed you hard enough to make you stop.”
Glancing back over at the brick wall, she says, “He came up behind me.”
As much as I want to fill in the blanks in hopes of bringing back her old life, I don’t know what happened once we parted ways. “Would you like to go inside?”
“Yes,” she says, steeling herself and taking a quick breath before moving forward. She walks with intention toward the door.
I grab the door and hold it. Others bustle in after her, unaware of the pain she’s dealing with. I only get pissed when a guy bumps her from behind and startles her. He turns back to say, “Sorry,” but then jumps into the line to cut her off.
Yeah, real fucking sorry. Asshole.
Tuesday steps back out of the busyness of the line and looks around. Her eyes widen like she’s seeing the wizard behind the curtain for the first time, but then her shoulders slack as she takes in the space. “It’s not that big.”
“No,” I reply. “When I walked in, you were at the register. I was back here at the end of the line. I remember you paid cash because the line wasn’t moving while you dug out change from the bottom of your bag.”
Covering her eyes with her hand, she drops her head. “Oh God. I held up everyone?” Straightening her neck, she says, “Sorry.”
“None needed.” I leave out how I mentally called her Miss Handsy for the demonstrative display she put on at the register. Maybe I’m not ready to be one-hundred percent honest . . .
“How did we end up talking?” she asks so innocently.
Now I’m questioning why I ever thought I could be honest with her at all. Fuck.
I shift and look at the line forming a few feet from us. “We just happened to be the last two left.”
A small smile comes into play as she rocks with soft laughter. “Did you speak to me first?”
“Actually—”
“I spoke to you first? Oh no.” Her head falls into her hands. Lifting up, she peeks through her fingers. “What’d I say?”
I’d like to forget that part. “Um . . . Nothing much. We just talked about our coffee orders.”
“Coffee, huh.” Her gaze lands on me, and she licks her lips. Another image to save for later.
