Espresso in the Morning

by Dorie Graham

  “Cool.” Grey moved beside his mom. “Can I help?”

  Claire handed him a paper towel and the caulking gun. “Can you be in charge of cleaning the tip?”

  “I sure can,” he said as he scoured the end of the tube with one of the paper towels. He held it up for inspection. “How’s that?”

  “Perfect, thanks, little man.” Claire smiled at her son as he handed her the caulking gun.

  “Grey, can I see your finger?” Lucas asked.

  The boy extended his index finger. A giggle burst from him. “Why do you want to see my finger?”

  “I need to check the size,” Lucas said. “Yes, I think that’s just about right.” He glanced at Claire, before turning back to her son. “This is an important job. We need you to run your finger along the bead of caulk your mom just laid. That’s to smooth it and get up any excess caulk. Can you do that?”

  Grey perched on the tub, finger ready. “I can do that.”

  “You have to wet it first,” Lucas said, nodding toward the water in the tub.

  Smiling, Grey dipped his finger in the water. “Okay, what do I do?”

  “Here, honey, like this,” Claire said, then guided Grey’s finger along the bead of caulk.

  “Perfect.” Lucas grinned at the boy and Claire granted Lucas a smile. He basked in that smile for a moment. Including Grey was such a small thing, but well worth it if it made Claire happy.

  Lucas was almost sorry when they finished the job a short while later, but Grey turned to him as Claire cleared away the caulking gun and paper towels. “So, can we take care of my bookcase now? I’ll bet you can help me fix it right.”

  “Well, of course, I’ll see what I can do,” Lucas said and strode after the boy.

  * * *

  GREY’S LAUGHTER FLOATED to Claire over the strains of an old metal band as she slid the chicken into the oven an hour or so later. With Lucas around she’d been hesitant to crank her music as much as she usually did. She peered out the open back window, the weather now unseasonably warm for October. Lucas cocked his head as Grey showed him the gate that was barely hanging together. As Lucas examined the hinge, Grey took off for the backyard shed, apparently to show Lucas where they kept their pitiful supply of tools.

  Claire was still so confused over last night with Lucas, but one thing was for sure—Grey really liked him. So did she. Heat flooded her at the memory of his mouth on hers, while he pulled her tight against his hard body. She hadn’t known she could still enjoy that.

  Grey followed Lucas out of the shed, carrying a screwdriver, while Lucas hefted the rusty old metal toolbox that Claire had had so long she couldn’t remember where it had come from. Grey’s smile lit his face. He was evidently enjoying every moment. When was the last time he had been this happy?

  Claire moved away from the window. As much as she’d enjoyed it, had kissing Lucas been a mistake? What had she been thinking? She wasn’t anywhere near ready for a relationship, or whatever else might come as a result of kissing him.

  Even though Lucas hadn’t meant anything by it, she hadn’t been able to control her reaction when he’d pulled out his pocketknife. The sight of that blade had spun her back into that afternoon when her mother’s neighbor, Phil Adams, had broken into her house. It had taken all her strength not to drop to her knees in a panic. What would Lucas have thought of her then? Knowing about her PTSD and experiencing it were two different things.

  She’d done the only thing she could do.

  She’d run. Again.

  But how long could she keep up that kind of behavior without him realizing how damaged she was? Would he stick around once he knew how truly abnormal she’d become?

  What if Grey became attached to Lucas? She needed to follow up on getting him a Big Brother. Her stomach tightened. Grey lit up around Lucas. Look how he’d manipulated him into staying all afternoon and her into making a sit-down dinner for all of them. They might enjoy today, but what would happen when everything fell apart, as it inevitably would?

  She’d have to make sure Grey didn’t get too used to having Lucas around. And if she were smart, she’d do the same for herself.

  * * *

  “THIS IS INCREDIBLE,” Lucas said as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Do you eat like this all the time?”

  Grey giggled with his mouth full of broccoli and sun-dried tomatoes. He shook his head, his eyes shining with merriment.

  Claire gave a wry smile. “My son finds that question amusing, because we don’t eat at home very often.” She stabbed a piece of roasted chicken. “We tend to eat on the run.”

  “Mom hardly ever cooks like this,” Grey said, having swallowed the bite, all smiles. “Sometimes she does, but then we pack it to go. Usually it’s takeout or something from the drive-through and we eat on our way to practice, and sometimes we take it as a picnic in the park.”

  Lucas frowned. His gaze swung from mother to son, who both seemed to take their eating habits in stride. “I knew you two were on the go a lot,” he said, “but you really don’t ever sit down and enjoy a meal?” He gestured to the table covered with dishes, as if for a Thanksgiving feast. “It’s just surprising when you can put together such a spread. If I could cook like this, I’d eat this way all the time.”

  Claire stiffened. “We eat at home every now and then.”

  Across the table, Grey puckered his lips, but refrained from further comment. He took another big bite of broccoli.

  “I just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate all your help today,” Claire said. “Grey actually suggested we make you dinner when I told him you were coming. I thought it was the least we could do, especially after you fixed his bookcase and reset the hinge on the back gate after finishing the caulking. You went way above and beyond.”

  “Yes,” Grey chimed in. “I told her we should make you dinner.” He glanced at his mom. “A real sit-down dinner, like at Aunt Becca’s or Gram’s. They eat like this all the time.”

  He leaned toward Lucas and whispered, loud enough for his mother to hear, “Sometimes dinner at my aunt’s goes on for hours, especially when Gram comes. We sit around and talk while we eat, then we have dessert, which Aunt Becca usually makes, like apple pie or chocolate cake or her peanut butter cookies, which are awesome, and then we still sit there while the grown-ups have coffee. Nobody has to go anywhere.”

  “Speaking of dessert...” Claire stood. “We have ice cream with caramel sauce. Who wants some?”

  “Me,” Grey said, his eyes wide.

  Lucas smiled at the boy. “I’m in.”

  As she scooped the ice cream, she turned to Grey. “When you finish, I’ll take you to the park, if you still want, Grey.”

  Grey’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can Lucas come?” he asked.

  Claire glanced at Lucas. “You’re welcome to join us, but please don’t feel obligated. We’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  Did she want him to come or was she tired of his company? Lucas glanced again from mother to son. “Actually, I’d love to come, if that’s okay with you, Claire.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Well, of course, we’d love that.”

  “Yes!” Grey said as he wielded a spoonful of ice cream. “We’ll go to the park and then can Lucas come back tomorrow and help us fix more stuff, like the garbage disposal? And stay for dinner again?”

  “Grey,” Claire said. “I’m sure Lucas has better things to do than hang out here with us, playing Mr. Fix-It.”

  “I do need to finish some painting tomorrow, but I’d love to come by after that,” Lucas said. “I can look at the garbage disposal and maybe mow the lawn. And your hedges need trimming. Grey can help me, if he’d like.”

  Grey was all smiles.

  “And dinner could be my treat,” Lucas said to Claire. “I wouldn’t want to put you out again.”

  She shook her head. “Seriously, I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to do my yard work. I can take care of that. And the garbage disposal hasn’t worke
d for ages. We can manage without it.”

  “We can at least take care of the outside stuff, though. I have a new trimmer I want to break in. I’d be happy to help. We can all pitch in together and get it done that much faster. And I’ll bring dinner, so you won’t have to cook, but we can still eat here—another sit-down meal.” Lucas winked at Grey.

  Claire sat gripping her fork. “Maybe we should wait until next weekend,” she said.

  “Why?” Grey asked.

  Lucas remained silent. She was nervous. Best not to push her. “Next weekend works for me just as well. Why don’t you just let me know?”

  She nodded. “We have rock climbing tomorrow morning with Becca and Amanda and I’m running in the afternoon. Grey will be at his friend Marty’s.”

  “Mom, we can skip all that,” Grey said.

  “Grey—”

  “It’s okay, Grey,” Lucas said as he patted the boy’s hand. “We might get to do this again next weekend. And I’ll see you at The Coffee Stop, right?” He glanced at Claire for confirmation.

  “Yes, of course,” Claire said.

  “And don’t forget, if I do come next week, dinner is on me.”

  “Oh, no, if you’re working in the yard, I insist on making dinner again.”

  Grey nodded, obviously pacified and pleased at the prospect of another dinner at home. “Mom insists,” he said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUCAS STOOD IN the doorway of Grey’s bedroom, while Claire kissed her sleeping son’s cheek and pulled the blanket over him. He stepped back as she turned out the light, then closed the door behind her.

  “He’s so tuckered out,” she said.

  “When he goes down, he’s out for the count, isn’t he?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Actually, I haven’t seen him fall asleep like this in a long time. I hope he wakes up good and rested for a change.”

  He nodded. Lucas had originally thought the boy was worn out from the nonstop activities, but if he wasn’t sleeping on top of that, the poor kid must have been truly exhausted. Was Claire’s insomnia disturbing her son’s rest?

  She touched his arm. “Thanks for coming to the park. I can’t remember the last time we had so much fun. That’s why he’s so tired. I should have gotten him out and run him like that sooner. It’s so much better to toss a Frisbee three ways, instead of two, though.”

  “I’m seeing some Ultimate Frisbee in Grey’s future,” Lucas said, smiling.

  The park had been a blast. Claire had relaxed while she’d laughed at her own misthrows and run after the passes he and Grey never quite got close enough for her to easily catch. Lucas had enjoyed watching her cheeks bloom with her efforts and her easy smile when she triumphed.

  She’d been radiant.

  But the moment they’d returned to her house, she’d tensed up again, cranking that screeching guitar music, while Grey rolled his eyes, even as he yawned. Lucas nodded toward her right ankle. “Why don’t you come sit down and let me look? You were limping a little after that spill.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Just a twist, not a sprain or anything. I can’t believe I was that clumsy.”

  “Let me look just to be sure,” he said and held out his hand to her.

  She hesitated only for a moment before letting him lead her to the sofa in the living room, where he had her sit, while he examined the injured ankle.

  Her skin was soft and warm to his touch. He pressed in various spots. “Does this hurt?”

  She shook her head as she settled against the armrest, a throw pillow at her back. “No, it hurt just a bit when I twisted it, but it’s fine now.”

  “I think you’re right. No bruising or swelling. It’s not sprained, but it wouldn’t hurt to ice it.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said and started to rise.

  He gripped her ankle to keep her in place. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

  Her eyes held a glimmer of protest, but she nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

  He found some ice and a baggie in the kitchen, then returned to the sofa. She’d sat up and had her arms again wrapped around her middle.

  What was it about her home that had her so uptight?

  “Here, relax,” he urged her as he sat at the end of the sofa and pulled her feet into his lap. He settled a dish towel over her ankle before placing the ice bag on top. “Let’s see if you can be still for fifteen minutes and let the ice do its job.”

  “We’ve kept you so long today,” she said. “I’m sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night.”

  “Not unless you’re ready for me to leave.”

  “You’re good company.” Her gaze held his. “I appreciate all you’ve done today, on behalf of my house and my son. I’m sure you could tell Grey really liked having you around.” She looked away. “You were right about him needing a Big Brother.”

  “Have you made any progress there?”

  “I went down to their office and met briefly with the director.”

  “That’s great. Did they match him with someone?”

  “Not exactly. There’s a whole selection process.” She took a slow, deep breath. “I had a hard time. I...started panicking, right there in front of the guy. He must have thought I was nuts. I...left.”

  “You had a panic attack?” Lucas asked.

  She nodded, unable to make eye contact.

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Not usually around other people. I try to fall to pieces in private.”

  How often did that happen? His stomach tightened as memories of Toby flashed through his mind. He wanted to ask her so much more, but was hesitant to press her. And a part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  She bit her lip. “I guess I should try again, call Monday morning, see if I can stop by first thing.”

  “I think Grey would really like having a Big Brother.”

  “I’m sure he would,” she said. “If I can hold it together long enough to get him one.”

  “Do you know what caused your panic attack?” He had to ask. “Maybe there’s a way to avoid the trigger.”

  “Oh,” she said, “that would be difficult. I...” She shook her head.

  “Claire, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  “It’s just...sometimes I get a little freaked out when I’m alone with strange men—or with men I know, for that matter.”

  That statement, along with her reaction to his knife earlier, set off alarm bells in his head. Did he really want to know what had happened to her?

  He remembered his mother’s words. I think a young troubled niño and his distressed madre will prove a very difficult distraction.

  Getting involved with Claire would indeed be a difficult distraction. He was just getting to know her and the thought of someone hurting her was already twisting knots in his gut. Could he handle being swept back into the dark place that had already claimed his friend?

  “Are you okay being alone with me?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened. “Yes, for the most part.”

  “For the most part?”

  She closed her eyes momentarily. “I get flashes sometimes, like little spikes of fear when I first see you, but then it goes away, once I recognize you. I do feel safe with you, especially after the accident.”

  “Claire, have you talked to anyone about this, a counselor?”

  She again wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’ve been reading up on PTSD—you saw the articles. I can work through it on my own.”

  “It might help you to talk through it with someone with proper training, though.” Someone besides him, a professional, who stood a better chance of helping her.

  “Maybe,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. She straightened and smiled. “So, enough of that. Tell me about The Coffee Stop. How’s everything going there?”

  Part of him welcomed the change in topic. “Business is steady and I have a great crew.”

 
“That’s good. Everyone gets along?” she asked.

  “Yes, mostly.” He pulled the ice from her ankle. “I think that should do it.”

  “Thank you.” She swung her legs around and sat up. “For everything, Lucas.”

  He nodded. “I’ve enjoyed it. Thanks for dinner and including me in your day.” He had enjoyed his time with Claire and Grey. “Let me know about next weekend. I’d love to come back and do it again.”

  “I will. If Grey has his way, you’ll be here.” Her gaze dropped. “I’ll see what we have planned for Saturday afternoon.”

  The ripping chords of electric guitar swirled to a stop. “I should probably get going, let you get some rest,” he said. “Maybe you’ll be able to sleep, too, after all that running around.”

  “Maybe.”

  At the door, she undid the bolt and then turned to him. “Thanks again, Lucas, it was really great having you around today.”

  The openness of her gaze pulled him in. The memory of the kiss they’d shared washed over him. He touched her cheek. “It was my pleasure.”

  “Grey will be sorry he didn’t get to say good-night.”

  “Well, good luck with getting him a Big Brother.”

  “Thanks,” she said, though concern filled her gaze.

  “Claire, would you like me to go with you?” he asked, not wanting to contemplate his motives for asking. “To the BBBS office, for moral support?”

  Her eyes rounded. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  “You wouldn’t be putting me out. I’d like to go, if it would help.”

  She smiled slowly. “That would be nice, but you’d have to let me do something for you in return.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, but we can worry about that later.”

  “Thank you, Lucas.” She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

  “You’re welcome.” He pressed her close, enjoying her warmth and softness. He exhaled, trying to stem his response to her. The woman had no idea how she affected him.

  Her breath fanned his cheek and he turned his face as she shifted and her sweet lips brushed his jaw just before her mouth claimed his. He gave in immediately to her kiss, returning the probing of her tongue with abandon, letting her take as much as she wanted until she slowly pulled away, her arms sliding to his chest.