The coffee’s not the only thing that’s hot…

The last thing Claire Murphy wants is a man in her life. Things work best with just her and her son, Grey, a solid team of two. Yes, some days are chaotic, but she’s confident Grey doesn’t know why she needs that chaos—until he brings home the local café owner, Lucas Williams, to help. How could Grey? Having someone as good-looking as Lucas around doesn’t feel right.

Or does it? It turns out there’s more to Lucas than the ability to brew a great cup of coffee. And sure, she knows she’s benefiting from his knowledge about recovering from trauma. But she also knows that she’s falling for Lucas and she’s not sure she’s ready for that!

He traced the curve of her jaw with his finger

“Claire...” Lucas’s voice was barely above a whisper.

But Claire couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t ready for this. He was so...present...in the way his energy wrapped around her, in the way his body seemed solid and real, in the way he focused completely on her and her alone, as if no one else existed.

She shook her head, but couldn’t complete a sentence in her mind, let alone form one with her mouth. Her lips lived with the memory of the feel of his lips caressing hers. She should just turn away, but instead her hand somehow found its way to his chest. His heart beat at her fingertips....

Dear Reader,

I’m delighted to announce exciting news: beginning in January 2013, Harlequin Superromance books will be longer! That means more romance with more of the characters you love and expect from Harlequin Superromance.

We’ll also be unveiling a brand-new look for our covers. These fresh, beautiful covers will showcase the six wonderful contemporary stories we publish each month.

So don’t miss out on your favorite series—Harlequin Superromance. Look for longer stories and exciting new covers starting December 18, 2012, wherever you buy books.

In the meantime, check out this month’s reads:

#1818 THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS

Liz Talley

#1819 THE TIME OF HER LIFE

Jeanie London

#1820 THE LONG WAY HOME

Cathryn Parry

#1821 CROSSING NEVADA

Jeannie Watt

#1822 WISH UPON A CHRISTMAS STAR

Darlene Gardner

#1823 ESPRESSO IN THE MORNING

Dorie Graham

Happy reading!

Wanda Ottewell,

Senior Editor, Harlequin Superromance

Espresso in the Morning

Dorie Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dorie was initially struck by the writing muse at the tender age of nine, when she stayed up past her bedtime for the first time ever to finish a short story. That attempt resulted in her teacher reading her work aloud to the class, then submitting her story to Highlights magazine. Unfortunately, Dorie took the magazine’s request to shorten the story as a flat rejection.

Over the years she followed the muse from time to time, but didn’t get serious about writing until after the birth of her third child. Even then it took about five years of juggling husband, children, nonprofit work and her writing before she finally mastered the art of rejection and landed her first sale in September 2001.

Currently she resides in Roswell, Georgia, a suburb of metro Atlanta, with her two supportive daughters. A full-time working, single mom, she spends her free time hanging with her daughters and friends, watching movies, running and of course writing. You can stop by and visit her at www.doriegraham.com.

To all those souls suffering with PTSD and the ones who’ve conquered it, your strength and courage are an inspiration to so many of us.

To my dear friend who opened my eyes to how a soul can keep going, no matter how weary, and still bring happiness to others, know that you will always hold a special place in my heart.

A special thanks to Berta Platas, Michelle Roper, Sandra Chastain, Nancy Knight and Haywood Smith for helping me brainstorm this story way back before it became a romance.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

THE TV WEATHERMAN’S smooth, loud tones predicted rain for metropolitan Atlanta, while the computer speakers in the home office blared Iron Maiden and the old DVD player in the kitchen cranked Judas Priest. Claire Murphy pounded again on her ten-year-old son’s door. The ever-present thudding of her heart sounded in her ears.

They had to leave.

“Grey, honey, step it up. We’re out of here in twenty minutes,” she said.

Shuffling sounded through the door, along with a couple of muffled expletives. Claire frowned. “I heard that, mister.”

The door cracked open and Grey peered at her, his auburn hair sticking out at odd angles. Dark circles ringed his eyes. “I’m up.”

Concern quickened Claire’s pulse. She lifted his chin. “Honey, you look exhausted. Didn’t you sleep well?”

He rolled his sweet brown eyes. “You didn’t sleep well.”

She’d tried, but the night had pressed in around her. She hated that her troubles had such an effect on Grey. She shook her head, fighting the chronic fatigue she’d learned to live with over the past year. She could never explain to him how sleeping only made her feel smothered.

And gave her nightmares. She didn’t always remember the specifics, but the terror often clung to her well into her waking hours. The nightmares made living without sleep a welcome alternative.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“I don’t get why you have to always crank your music. Even with your earphones on, I can tell it’s cranked. How can you do that? Normal people sleep in the middle of the night.”

“Well, normal’s overrated.” She ruffled his hair. “You’d better get in the shower. You’re a mess.”

“Mom?” He stepped out of his room, looking so grown-up in his too-small pajamas.

Her gaze fell on a wrinkled image of Abe Lincoln on his left knee. Various presidents dotted the rest of the fabric and Grey could not only name each one, but he could also recite each man’s years in office, as well as highest accomplishments. They’d bought those pajamas on their trip to D.C. almost two years ago, but Grey refused to give them up, even though the sleeves and legs were now far too short. He’d been so thrilled to see the capital, they’d spent an entire day on the Mount Vernon estate alone.

“Mom?” he asked again.

Her gaze met his and her throat tightened. The worry in his eyes these days was just one part of what haunted her sleepless nights. He was too young to bear the weight of that concern. “What is it, little man?”

He sighed in frustration over the pet name, but his expression didn’t change. “Why can’t you sleep?”

She waved her hand in dismissal, her gaze dropping. Why couldn’t he remain an innocent child, unconcerned for her welfare? “I sleep. Besides, sleep is overrated.”

“No, it isn’t.” Anger replaced the worry. “That’s what you say about everything you don’t want to talk about.”

Claire tamped down her own frustration. She had to give him his anger. She’d be angry, too, in his position. She gave him her sternest mom frown. “Are you going to get into the shower?”

He shook his head, but said, “I’m going.” He shuffled a few steps toward the bathroom, before turning to her. “You think I look bad this morning, you should check out a mirror.”

She groaned silently. Grey could be brutally honest. She loved that and hated it about him. “I’ll take your word for it. Hurry up. I need my espresso. And don’t forget to keep the curtain in the tub and point the showerhead away from that spot I showed you, where the caulk is peeling.”

“If we stuck around home more, maybe we could fix stuff like that.”

“Maybe I’ll get some caulk and we’ll fix it this weekend,” she said, though the thought of hanging around the house sent a shiver through her.

His only response was another shake of his head as he continued toward the bathroom, his shoulders stooped as if he carried the weight of the world. Claire pressed her lips together as her unease spiked into fear.

Had she bolted the door last night?

Though she clearly remembered turning the bolt, she hurried to check, to twist the knob to be sure the door held fast. She pulled aside the curtain in one of the long windows bordering the heavy door. A cat lounged on the hood of her neighbor’s car. Claire scanned the cars in the other driveways, her stomach tight with anticipation, though nothing seemed out of place. A door slammed up the street and she heard the muffled sound of an engine roaring to life.

She inhaled slowly, trying to stem the racing of her heart as she hurried to the back door to check that bolt, as well. Satisfied that dead bolt remained drawn, she paused to pick up one of the cabinet drawer fronts that had fallen off in the night. The builders of this house hadn’t cared for quality when they’d installed the wooden fronts on the plastic drawers back in the early seventies.

She tucked the drawer front into the gap between her refrigerator and the wall, along with the other two that had previously broken away from the cracking plastic. The missing fronts made her bottom cabinets resemble a child’s toothless grin, with the gaping holes revealing the contents of her junk drawer, her silverware and now all her cooking utensils. Grey would have one more thing to complain about. She’d have to figure out how to repair them or work new cabinets into their budget.

As she headed to the living room to check the sliding glass doors, she grabbed her phone from her purse on the entry table. She made a quick note about shopping for new cabinets on her to-do list. Swiping her thumb along the screen, she scanned the long list of notes.

Confirm Sunday with Becca.

Add oil.

Call car place about noise.

Research winter break programs.

She frowned as she checked the bar that secured the sliding glass doors. What did add oil mean? To a recipe? To the car? Her memory wasn’t what it used to be. If she didn’t write everything down, she’d lose half the thoughts in her head, but sometimes she couldn’t interpret her own notes.

While the splash of the shower echoed in the bathroom and the music and TV blared, Claire methodically continued her check of each room, each window and each point of entry. Then she rechecked each room, behind each door, inside each closet. Not until she’d completed the circuit did she breathe a sigh of relief.

They were fine. They were safe, and that was all that mattered. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, silently repeating her mantra.

I am safe. I am strong. No one can hurt me.

Still, the thudding of her heart contradicted her as she turned to finish getting ready.

* * *

LUCAS WILLIAMS, owner of The Coffee Stop, frowned as he reviewed the employee schedule spread across his monitor and his gaze fixed on Friday’s date. September twenty-eighth. Had it been two years already?

Ken, a retiree who worked most mornings, leaned through his open office door. “Do we have any more coffee sleeves?”

“I have some on order. They should come in this afternoon, but there should be one more case.” He moved past the older man. “Here, I can grab them faster than I can tell you where they are.”

A few moments later, as Lucas headed toward the front, box in hand, Ken spoke up. “I can take those. You’ve got better things to do, boss.”

“I’ve got it.” Lucas nodded toward the counter. “You’ve got customers.”

As Ken hurried away, Lucas smiled at the kid trailing behind the petite brunette who stopped in every morning. She and her son shared the same wide brown eyes. Double-shot Americano, two pumps of vanilla, room for cream and the kid always had a banana-strawberry smoothie.

“Hey, mister,” the kid whispered and motioned Lucas over, while he glanced nervously at his mother, who was placing their order at the other end of the counter.

Lucas was curious as he set down the carton of sleeves and turned toward the boy. Curious, and a little cautious. Kids weren’t his thing. “Can I help you, little man?”

The boy scrunched his face. “I hate when my mom calls me that.”

Lucas shrugged. “Okay, how about just young man?”

“Grey,” the kid said. “That’s my name. You can call me that.”

“Grey it is. I’m Lucas. What can I get for you? Your usual smoothie?”

“How much is that?” The kid pointed to a wall display of espresso machines. “The one on the right. In the green box.”

“Ah, good choice.” Lucas reached for the machine.

“Don’t. She’ll see.” The youngster glanced again at his mother, who’d moved along to the pickup area.

She stood with her arms tightly crossed, her gaze darting over her shoulder at intervals. Ken dropped a metal filter and she jumped, hands splayed, eyes wide. Lucas had seen that look and that reaction before—in Iraq and Afghanistan, and later with Toby. He hoped this woman wasn’t like Toby, harboring some horrible trauma.

“It’s a surprise.” The boy drew Lucas’s attention back to the espresso machine.

“You want to get that for your mom?”

“Maybe if we have one at home, we won’t have to rush out every morning. Not that we don’t enjoy frequenting your shop...” The boy grinned, nervously. “But maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead. Just the two of us.”

His wistful tone tugged at something deep inside Lucas, called to the part of him he’d retired when he’d finished his last tour with the marines and walked from his medevac days. The boy’s eyes were almost pleading, as though he were grasping at a lifeline. Lucas glanced around for a reason to excuse himself, to retreat from that haunted look in the child’s eyes. It reminded him too much of himself at that age—lost and looking for an anchor.

The boy shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Pun intended?” Lucas grinned, though he felt anything but lighthearted.

As if September twenty-eighth wasn’t enough to deal with, the thought that this poor kid believed an espresso machine would solve his troubles added to his weariness. Lucas glanced again at the kid’s mom. The kid wanted more time with her, a quiet breakfast, at least. That seemed a reasonable request. What kind of mother wouldn’t give her kid that? Was she a workaholic or did she suffer from some other affliction?

She looked healthy enough. Even Lucas wasn’t so dead he didn’t notice the shape of her body, the tone of her muscles. The woman was physically fit, if nothing else, but that in itself could be a symptom. His buddy Toby had been fanatical about working out. After Iraq, he’d stepped up his daredevil activities, jumping from planes, scaling impossible cliffs, diving from that seventy-foot rock. He’d needed the endorphins just to feel normal.

But even that hadn’t helped in the end.

Was the kid’s mother just going through the motions? She spent plenty of time in Lucas’s coffee shop, always on the phone or her laptop, conducting her business from the comfort of his overstuffed chairs. Something in her overly vigilant attitude made it seem she wasn’t ever at ease, though.

He’d gotten to know a good many of his customers, chatting with them on a regular basis, but Grey’s mom always kept to herself. No matter how involved she was with whatever she was doing, she remained on edge, contained.

No, he guessed she wasn’t comfortable, at least not here. Was she uptight at home, too?

The kid cleared his throat, drawing Lucas’s attention again to the espresso machines. “How much?” he asked.

“Well, that’s top-of-the-line.” Lucas tilted his head to the left, indicating another machine. “That one isn’t as pricey, but does the basics. It’s eighty bucks.”

“Eighty?” The boy bit his lip. “Do you have...some kind of...payment plan?”

“Not really, but I know the owner. I think we can work something out, probably even get you a discount,” Lucas said. Though why he felt compelled to help the kid, he didn’t know.

“Really?” Relief filled those brown eyes.

“Grey?” The kid’s mother moved toward them, espresso and smoothie in hand. Her gaze skimmed over Lucas, than quickly away. “We’ve got to go, honey.”

“Okay.” Grey took his smoothie and turned to leave with his mom, but then he ran back to Lucas. He stuck out his hand, held Lucas’s gaze and kept his voice low. “We’ll take care of the details next time.”

Lucas hesitated for half a second as his stomach tightened over the hope in the kid’s eyes. He had no business getting into some secret deal with the boy. A stupid espresso machine wasn’t going to do shit to solve the kid’s problems.

As the boy’s mother took a nervous step toward them, Lucas shook the small hand, feeling he was committing to so much more than helping Grey surprise her for her birthday or whatever, but knowing he couldn’t turn back now. “Deal.”

A smile split the boy’s face, sending a sense of guilt spiraling through Lucas. Why did he feel like he was promising something he couldn’t deliver?

* * *

GREY SIGHED as Paul Cooper plopped into the seat beside him later that afternoon. He’d been stoked about the espresso machine for most of the day, but Paul had a way of bringing him down.

“So, what does your dad do?” Paul paused only long enough for Grey to frown. “Mine is an attorney. He goes to court. He helps people. Does your dad help people?” Again, the breath of a pause before he continued. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but he brings me really cool stuff when he visits. Last week he took me to see the Falcons. It was so cool. Where do you go with your dad?”

Paul swatted at a stray fly that had found its way into the classroom. “He’s coming to see me next weekend and I get to spend the summer with him,” he said. “He has a place on the beach. Do you like the beach?”

Now he stopped and stared, waiting for Grey’s response. Grey stared back, his stomach tightening. He used to like the beach, but Mom said she didn’t believe in vacations anymore. Too much relaxing and peace and quiet.

He shrugged, saying, “The beach is cool.”

“My dad said if I wanted I could live with him at the beach all the time, but my mom said no way. It’s in Tybee, which is still Georgia, but Momma says it’s too far. Does your dad live with you, or are your parents divorced?” Again, the stare, while Paul waited, his eyes round.

My dad’s dead.

Grey gritted his teeth. He should just say it. It wasn’t true, but it could be. For all he knew his dad had kicked the bucket in the years since they’d last heard from him. If he told Paul his dad was dead then Paul would quit asking all these stupid questions. Grey opened his mouth, but the words refused to form.

The bell rang over the intercom, dismissing them for the day and giving Grey a welcome excuse to escape. He rose to gather his books. “It’s Wednesday. My aunt’s coming to get me. She freaks if I’m not up front when she pulls up.”

Paul nodded and said, “Tell your dad to take you to a Falcons game. Mine let me have a hot dog and popcorn and cotton candy and this ginormous soda. My mom never lets me have that stuff.”

“Yeah.” Turning quickly, Grey headed for the door.

Hurrying, he reached the front of the school in record time. Aunt Becca really did freak if she had to wait. As usual, she was one of the first cars in the pickup line. He slipped into the backseat beside his cousin, Amanda, who sat in her booster seat. Aunt Becca said he wasn’t big enough yet to ride up front. She’d lectured his mom on the danger of air bags lots of times, but Grey preferred sitting up front when he was in his mom’s car.

“Hi, honey,” Aunt Becca said and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “How was school?”

Grey shrugged. “It was school.”

“Why is it dark under your eyes? You look like a raccoon.” Amanda peered at him through circles she made of her fingers.

“Amanda, that’s not nice,” his aunt said. Again, she glanced at him in the mirror. “You do look tired, Grey.”

Grey shrugged and sank into the seat as they pulled away from the curb. “I’m fine.”

“Can we go see Daddy at his work?” Amanda asked.

“Not today, sweetie. Daddy’s busy. We’ll go another time.”

Frowning, Amanda turned to look out her window. After a while, Grey glanced up to find her staring at him again, her eyebrows furrowed. He straightened. “What?”

“Where’s your daddy? How come I’ve never seen him?”

Crap. What was it with everyone today? “I don’t have a dad. He’s dead.”

The words came out sharper than he’d intended. Amanda’s eyes widened and her lip trembled. Grey glanced at his aunt, who’d turned in her seat to see him this time. Something like pity flashed in her eyes as she quickly shifted again when the light changed.

“He’s not dead,” she said. “He’s just not around.”

“He might as well be dead. He could be and we’d never know it.” Grey stared at the back of his aunt’s head.

She sat stiffly. “Honey, maybe we can talk about that later.”

“How come he isn’t around?” Amanda sounded scared, but she shouldn’t have been. Her dad wasn’t going anywhere.

“I don’t know. I guess he just doesn’t like us.” Grey couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.

His aunt shook her head. “The man’s an idiot. Sweetie, what did Miss Penny say about your counting tree today?”

“Is Daddy going away?” Amanda’s voice rose anxiously.

His aunt stopped at another red light and swiveled again in the seat, addressing her daughter. “No, Daddy’s staying with us,” she said. “We’ll call him when we get home and you can say hi.”

Amanda’s chin quivered, but she nodded as she settled into her booster seat. Grey stared out the window. Why didn’t his father want anything to do with him?

Sidewalks, driveways and manicured lawns flashed by, all part of the great suburb of Roswell, Georgia. Grey pressed his lips together. One thing was for sure. If his dad were a part of their life now, he’d hate it as much as Grey did.

The hum of the engine soon lulled Amanda into sleep. Grey relaxed as the classical music on the radio settled peacefully over him. Aunt Becca hummed softly. This is what his mom needed.

They’d had this before—normal—no rushing from place to place, cramming every activity they could into a day. Maybe Mom had never been a fan of classical music, but she’d at least listened to less acid rock and at a lower volume. They’d enjoyed periods of quiet. If she could experience this kind of peace again, there was no way she’d ever want to go back to running nonstop.

If only he could get her to slow down for a moment. A thrill of excitement ran through him. The espresso machine should do the trick. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He’d surprise her with the machine on her birthday. Instead of running out every morning, they could have breakfast at home, quiet breakfasts that could set the tone for the day.

What a plan, and the coffee-shop guy—Lucas—was going to let him pay over time. He might have to snag a few more chores at his aunt’s and at home, but with his allowance, he should be able to do it. He settled back in the seat, content with his plan.

* * *

“I DID LIKE you said and I’ve been running nonstop all week.” Peg, one of Claire’s kickboxing students, puffed out a tired breath later that afternoon.

“Good, and you haven’t thought about the divorce?” Claire asked.

Her heart thrummed to the beat of the music in the background. She’d been looking forward to this lesson all day. She could only sit and work for so long before she craved physical activity. She’d be able to get a run in, too, later, while Grey stayed with his friend.

She’d dropped her son at school that morning, and then returned to the coffee shop. Her day had been filled with reviewing shipping bids and pulling together contracts. She rolled her shoulders, ready to get moving.

“Well, I haven’t given myself the chance.” The woman laughed, the sound like a nervous hiccup.

“Claire, want me to get them started with some warm-ups?” Bill, Claire’s sparring assistant, shoved his hands into protective pads.

She nodded, and then joined in. Nervous energy cranked through her. Too much caffeine and too little sleep was never a good combination, but was all she ran on most days.

Her body loosened with the repetitive movements. She’d trained long and hard for the past year, earning her black belt in record time. Now, she taught kickboxing two days a week on top of her day job, while Grey had soccer practice after school, or went to her sister’s.

After the warm-ups, Claire nodded to Peg. “Ready for some sparring?”

The group fell back slightly as Bill motioned Peg forward and the two circled each other. The rest paired off and followed suit, while Claire moved among them, correcting a stance here, giving a quick demonstration there.

Claire stopped beside Bill and Peg. Again, a nervous laugh escaped the woman. Peg threw a few punches, striking the big pads protecting Bill’s hands and forearms.

“That’s good, Peg, but you’re holding back,” Claire said. “Loosen up. Try some kicks. Remember to bring your knee up and twist from the hip.”

The next few punches struck with astonishing force. Bill stepped back as Peg advanced with a kick to his left arm. With a cry, she advanced again, backing him toward Claire. Eyes wide, Peg threw two more kicks. A left hook. A right and a side kick.

Bill stumbled, knocking into Claire.

Claire threw her hands forward to break her fall as the side mirror rushed toward her. Her shoulder slammed into the mirror and glass shattered over the mat.

“Oh, my goodness.” Peg gasped for breath. “I’m so sorry. I...I guess I lost control. Claire, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Claire pushed herself to her knees, staring in amazement at the shards of mirror. “Maybe we should take five.”

Peg nodded, her face crimson as she dashed for the ladies’ room. Claire bit her lip. Her fractured reflection peered back at her. It seemed Peg had too much pent-up anger. Maybe telling her to run from her problems hadn’t been the best advice, after all.

CHAPTER TWO

CLAIRE SIGHED AN hour and a half later as she hung up the phone and turned to Bill, who’d been hovering over her since her fall. He meant well, but his closeness set her already taut nerves over the edge.

“The installers will be here with the new mirror on Friday,” she said.

He nodded. “I taped over the broken part and cleaned up all the mess. You sure you’re okay?”

“Not a scratch.” She stood to move away from him, needing some distance.

She’d known him for years and thought having him around to help with the classes would be good therapy for her. Bill was safe. They’d played soccer together in middle school. He’d had her back on more than one occasion growing up.

During class, with the other students around, her fear had been under control. Now, with everyone else gone, her adrenaline spiked. “You can head out,” she said. “I’m fine. I have an email to send, and then I’m out of here. I’ve got to leave to get Grey in a little bit.”

Her cell phone chimed from the recesses of her purse. She groaned. She’d programmed that tune for her mother.

Bill nodded and backed toward the door as she answered the call. Claire waved, the knot in her stomach intensifying. “Mother?”

“Claire, did I catch you at a good time? You’re done with class, right?” her mother asked in her usual tone, her voice cold, polite.

“Yes, this is fine. What’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I never see you.”

Claire rubbed her eyes. Her mother had made it abundantly clear she didn’t want to see her, so what she was really saying was she never saw Grey. “You know how busy we are.”

“I don’t know why you have to cram so much into a day. Why don’t you bring that grandson of mine by for a visit some weekend? He can spend the night and you can do something fun for yourself.”

Subjecting Grey to an extended amount of time with her mother was one thing, but the thought of being home alone sent a chill through Claire. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Her mother grunted in disapproval. “You’re stifling him.”

She was doing anything but stifling him. She had him out and about as much as he could tolerate. The memory of Grey’s exhausted expression that morning flashed through Claire’s mind. She was the one interrupting his sleep at night.

Would he catch up on his rest at her mother’s? Surely, she could stand one night alone. The thought sent a shiver of unease through her, but she stifled it. She could do it for Grey. He put up with so much from her.

“Maybe next weekend. Let me talk to Grey. I’ll see if he’s up for it,” she said to her mother.

“That’s wonderful, dear, thank you. Maybe you could go out, have fun. It’s past time you started dating.”

“I’ve got to run. I’ll call you after I talk to Grey,” Claire said and disconnected without waiting for a response.

Without a doubt, she was going to regret this. She glanced around the quiet office and studio. Her unease intensified as the silence buzzed around her. She had never gotten along with her mother....

“Why would you say such a thing? Becca would never make such wild accusations. Of course, she doesn’t do anything to invite this kind of trouble.” Her mother’s words struck Claire as if they were blows. Why had she even come here? She should have known better.

“This kind of trouble?” Claire stared at her mother, incredulous. “You think I invited this?” She stepped away in an effort to compose herself. She would not break down again in front of her mother. “This isn’t a ‘wild accusation.’” She yanked up her sleeve to reveal the bruises on her arm. “It happened, whether you want to accept it or not. That man—that friend of yours—”

“Enough.” Her mother drew up straight. “There’s no need to involve the authorities when it will be your word against his.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Claire said, turning to leave. She had plenty to show the police. She’d have her doctor document her condition first, then they’d see whose word the authorities believed.

“Claire, whatever physical evidence you may have, there’s no way for you to prove you didn’t consent and things just got a little rougher than you’d anticipated. These things happen all the time.”

Tears pricked Claire’s eyes. She refused to let her mother see. “How can you be so unsupportive?”

“I’m just trying to help you see this objectively. You have to think of Grey. How do you think this will affect him?”

Tears rolled down Claire’s cheeks. She hadn’t considered her son in all this. It would be hard to keep it from him if she pressed charges. Phil Adams was a public figure, at least on a city level. Would it be in the news? Would Grey hear about it at school? He might not understand, but he’d be devastated to learn she’d been hurt this badly....

Claire inhaled slowly now and straightened. The only thing she and her mother had ever agreed on was keeping the entire mess from Grey. Wanting to protect him from the horrific truth, Claire hadn’t made a fuss.

As her heart thudded, she fumbled with her phone, breathing a sigh of relief once she had the music cranking from the device. Nodding, she lost herself to the ripping notes of an electric guitar.

* * *

ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON Lucas raised his beer in salute to the tombstone that barely showed the wear of the past two years. “Cheers to you, Toby,” he said. “I’m still pissed at you, bud, but sometimes I think you got the better end of this deal.”

A rough breeze whipped around him, making him shiver. September twenty-eighth had dawned unseasonably cold for Atlanta. He squinted into the clouds covering the sun. A sixteen-wheeler pounded along the highway hidden behind a thicket of Georgia pines and maples. He took a long drink from the bottle. The thudding of the tires echoed through his mind, as he thought back....

Lucas slammed his fist against the door. “Toby, open up. Open up or I’ll break down the damn door.”

Was he too late? The door swung open and Toby Platt stood, squinting into the haze of the day. His hair hung in an oily curtain around his gaunt face. He reeked, as though he hadn’t showered in weeks. Rather than scowl, as would be his normal response to such an interruption, he stared at Lucas, his eyes blank.

Ignoring the fear curling through him, Lucas pushed his way inside. The stench of rotting food and unwashed clothes mixed with the rank odor emanating from his lifelong friend. Lucas fought the impulse to gag. Instead, he drew a steadying breath and opened all the windows, letting in as much fresh air as possible.

He turned to Toby, who still stood in the doorway, frowning at the passing day, as though he couldn’t remember that the world existed, let alone what it was.

“When was the last time you ate?” Lucas didn’t wait for an answer.

He moved to the kitchen, to examine the refrigerator. Half a rotten head of lettuce, an empty milk carton and a jar of mayonnaise sat on the shelves. He rummaged through the cabinets, but couldn’t find anything to fuel a man who’d once given him hell on the football field.

He nudged Toby toward the bathroom. “I’m taking you out to eat, but you’re definitely showering first.”

He’d gotten his friend cleaned up, taken him to eat, and then made him an appointment with the V.A. Lucas had stayed with him that night, and then driven Toby to the appointment the following day. He’d stuck around for as long as he could, sleeping on the lumpy couch, cooking and cleaning up Toby’s tiny efficiency. Therapy and antidepressants had seemed to do the job and Lucas had gone back to his life, thinking they were out of danger.

But they weren’t.

“You’ve got some nerve coming here today.” Contempt laced Louisa Platt’s voice, drawing Lucas back to the present.

He turned to face Toby’s sister. So, she hadn’t softened toward him over the past couple of years. He couldn’t blame her.

Her gaze darted over the beer in his hand. She said, “You think this is some kind of celebration?”

He shook his head. “You know he was my best friend, Louisa. No one misses him more than I do. If I’d known—”

“Well, you should have known. You’re the one with the medical training. How could you not have seen what was happening? You should have been there for him. Then maybe we’d still have him. You owed him at least that after all the trouble you’d brought on him in the past.” Her voice faltered. She nodded toward the tombstone. “He should never have followed you into the marines.”

“We both needed to get away.”

“Because of you. Because you dragged him into that gang in the first place.”

Lucas gripped the neck of the beer bottle. “I never meant for him to get hurt.”

“Hurt?” The accusation burned in her eyes. “He was literally broken, in both body and spirit. He didn’t walk for months. If you had left him alone, maybe we could have avoided this.”

Lucas stared at her, unable to dispute her claim. He’d gotten into some stupid stuff in high school and Toby had gone along with him, not always willingly. Sometimes he went just to keep Lucas out of worse trouble than he’d be in on his own. Neither of them had come out of that time unscathed. But Toby had been scarred in a way Lucas hadn’t realized until it was too late.

Then, in the marines, Lucas had been an EMT and medevac pilot, not a shrink. Guilt still churned in his gut. He’d missed the signs. He’d gotten caught up in a stupid love affair during that last leave. Who was the woman? He couldn’t remember her name or even picture her face.

“I’m sorry.” No matter how many times he uttered them, the words fell flat. He left, fleeing the accusation in her eyes.

Nothing had changed in the past two years. Louisa was right. If anyone could have helped her brother, it should have been Lucas.

CHAPTER THREE

CLAIRE GAZED AT her sleeping son on Friday afternoon, overwhelmed with regret. Becca and Amanda’s voices drifted to her from one of the back rooms. Claire brushed the hair from Grey’s forehead. She hated to wake him. He’d been exhausted again that morning, but now his young face had softened. Surely, she’d known such peace once. It seemed so long ago.

What she wouldn’t give to feel that again.

The quiet of her sister’s house pressed in around her. “Grey? Grey, honey, time to go.”

When he didn’t respond, she gently shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes. She folded her arms as a floorboard in the hallway creaked.

It’s only Becca.

She pressed her lips together as her son groaned in disappointment. Heaven knew he needed the rest, but they had to get out of there.

“Hurry up. We’ll be late for soccer practice,” she said and grabbed his backpack from the floor. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grey reached for his bag, but she threw it across her shoulder, and headed for the door.

He hurried after her, half running to keep up. She didn’t breathe until they reached the car. He slipped into the passenger seat beside her as she cranked the engine and the radio exploded with the screeching of an electric guitar.

He winced, and then turned down the volume a notch. Claire frowned, but didn’t turn it back up. At least they’d escaped Becca’s tomblike home.

“Why don’t you like quiet?” he asked, annoyance coloring his tone.

She shrugged and said, “Quiet is overrated.”

“No, it isn’t. It isn’t normal to always crank your music, to have the TV and the DVD player and the computer going at the same time. You don’t sleep. You don’t like quiet. We’re never home. It’s soccer, or kickboxing or wall-climbing. It isn’t normal. We didn’t used to do all that. What happened? Why does it have to be so crazy now?”

She didn’t answer, just bobbed her head along to the music, her attention on the road. The “normal” Grey wanted no longer existed for her, though she’d give anything to have it back again. Why couldn’t he accept their life without all these questions? She didn’t have answers, not ones she could share.

This wasn’t easy for either of them. All Grey wanted was a normal life, a regular mom. Claire wasn’t like other moms, though. Not anymore.

And she’d never been like Becca.

Becca would never make such wild accusations.

“I want to know about my father. Where is he? What’s he doing?” Grey asked.

She strummed her fingers to the acid beat and sped through a yellow light. “You know as much as I do.”

“Why don’t I ever hear from him?”

Shit. Why now? “What difference does it make? He’s gone and you don’t need to worry about him.”

“It makes a difference to me. Why won’t you talk about him?”

She braked at a light and turned to him as the electric guitar squealed to a stop and the radio announcer came on. “There’s nothing to talk about, Grey,” she said. “I’m sorry you don’t have a dad, but we’re fine on our own. None of that matters. The past is past. Let’s focus on today. Are you ready for this game? Who are you playing tonight? Oh, and we need to talk about this weekend.”

“I don’t care about the game,” Grey said. “I want to know about my dad. Did I do something to make him leave? Did you?”

“Grey.” The knot in her stomach tightened. “It’s nothing like that. He left, but not because you did anything wrong. He just didn’t deserve you.”

“So he left because of you.”

“Yes,” she said. The light changed, so she accelerated through the intersection. “He left because of me.”

Grey turned from her, fuming. She clenched the steering wheel, hating the sick feeling in her gut, hating having her son mad at her, hating that she couldn’t give him normal, hating that he missed his dad. Hadn’t they been fine?

She provided adequately for them. Their house needed fixing up, but she gave Grey lots of attention. Why wasn’t that enough? Did it matter so much that he didn’t have a father?

* * *

ON MONDAY MORNING The Coffee Stop regulars lounged about as Lucas emerged from the back to fill his own mug. Ken talked quietly with an older gentleman at the end of the counter. Lucas stretched as he surveyed the seating area.

The sweet old couple, who’d talked him into expanding his tea assortment, sat focused on the cribbage board they’d donated to the growing stock of board games he kept under one of the big oak coffee tables. Whatever it took to keep people lingering and buying more coffee and the occasional panini was fine with Lucas. Comb-over guy slouched in the corner of the long leather sofa, his feet propped on the other table, his bony fingers curled around his pencil as he scribbled in the daily crossword.

The customer of most interest, as always, was the woman by the window, staring vacantly out, laptop keyboard silent—Grey’s mom. The boy’s bright smile flashed through Lucas’s mind and he shook his head.

Lucas shouldn’t let the kid get to him. Was he reading too much into things, or was the kid unhappy? Surely if he were, his mom would do whatever was needed to address the situation. Maybe Lucas should talk to her, surreptitiously figure out if the espresso machine might help. Maybe he should just tell her about her son’s plan.

He stirred sugar into his coffee and frowned as the woman jerked. Something in her expression, in the way she startled like that, brought back memories of Toby. Lucas’s stomach clenched. Was she experiencing a flashback or did everything remind him of Toby these days?

He should pretend he hadn’t noticed, walk back to his office and finish payroll, or maybe have a quick nap. He hadn’t slept the past few nights, not since that visit to Toby’s grave and the confrontation with his friend’s sister. All the more reason to avoid Grey’s mom.

The familiar heaviness filled his chest. He missed Toby.

He glanced again at Grey’s mother. Absolutely, he should avoid her. He had no business butting in to her life, even if he felt for her son. Yet, the memory of the hope on Grey’s face as he eyed the espresso machine carried Lucas between the tables to stand beside her. She blinked, then pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, as if waking.

“Would you like a refill?” He nodded toward her empty cup and cursed himself for not having thought of a better excuse to approach her. Leading with “Your kid thinks an espresso machine will fix things at home” didn’t seem like the best way to go, though.

She’d had her usual espresso earlier, when she’d stopped in with Grey and he’d slipped Lucas a ten-dollar bill, with a conspiratorial nod. Lucas had hated taking the kid’s money, but he would have hated himself more if he hadn’t. Who was he to stomp on the kid’s hopes?

“Actually, that...would be nice,” she said, her brows knotted in uncertainty. She cleared her throat. “I...didn’t realize...you offered refills...on the good stuff.” Her words came out choppy, as though speaking drained her.

“This one’s on me,” he said. “A way of saying thank you for your frequent patronage.”

“Oh,” she said, a tentative smile curving her lips. “That’s nice. I hadn’t realized...do you own this place?”

“Yes.” He stifled a laugh. She’d thought he was an employee. “I needed something to keep me out of trouble.” He grabbed her cup. “I’ll be right back.”

Ken eyed him curiously as he cleaned the filter for her espresso, but when Lucas shrugged, his employee continued his conversation with one of the customers. A few moments later, Lucas delivered the brew as the woman shoved her phone into her bag.

She took the cup with both hands, her fingers trembling. “Thanks, I need this.”

“Having a rough day?” he asked as he perched on the table beside her.

Nodding, she glanced at her monitor. “Freighter is late with a shipment.”

“You’re in shipping?” he asked.

“Strategic sourcing,” she said. “I find the best sources, run analysis, act as a liaison between the customer and shipper and negotiate freights and terms. Only I can’t always get everyone to do as they agreed. Then it gets rough.”

“But you can do it all from the comfort of a coffee shop.” He spread his hands to indicate their surroundings. “Beats working out of an office.”

“Or home,” she said, her voice a whisper as she raised her cup.

“Really? I guess I’d get tired of being cooped up in the house, too.”

“It is nice to be able to work remotely and arrange my schedule around our other activities.”

“You and your son?” he asked.

“Yes, my son, Grey. It’s just the two of us,” she said and cocked her head. “What was that the other morning?”

He frowned. Should he tell her about Grey’s plan? What if he ruined the surprise for no reason? “What was what?”

“He ran back to shake your hand.”

“Oh, that. He was introducing himself. I introduced myself, since the two of you are always in here. I like to get to know all my regulars.” All of that was actually true.

“Oh.” She stared at him a moment, frowning.

He stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Lucas Williams.”

Somehow, she withdrew without moving. He stubbornly left his hand suspended between them. With a sigh, she took it and gave it a surprisingly strong shake. “I’m Claire Murphy.”

“It’s a pleasure, Claire.”

She nodded, her gaze anchored on a spot beyond him, her smile stiff. He felt odd noticing, but she’d be gorgeous if she could just loosen up a little. Her nose was a bit small, her chin slightly crooked, but it worked for her.

He shifted. “That’s a great son you have.”

Her gaze found his. “Yes, Grey’s an incredible kid.”

Lucas stood for a moment as silence fell between them. She crossed her arms and said, “Well, thank you for the refill.”

“You’re welcome.”

He should walk away. The kid and his mother were none of his business. His curiosity about Grey’s reasons for buying the espresso machine again rose, though, and kept him in place.

“Just for the record, is it the robust flavor of our coffee that brings you here every morning, or do you just prefer your coffee on the run?” he asked.

“Both, I suppose.” She raised her cup. “You brew great coffee, but we’re most definitely on the run in the mornings.”

“During the week, at least.”

“Always,” she said, then sipped her espresso.

“Even on the weekends?” He sometimes stopped in at The Coffee Stop Saturday mornings, but always stayed in the back.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “We keep on the go.”

“What about downtime?”

Her gaze drifted to her keyboard. “I don’t believe in downtime.”

“I see,” he said. Poor Grey. No wonder the kid wanted an espresso machine. “Don’t you get tired?”

A dry laugh worked its way from her throat. “I’m always tired.”

“Why not slow things down then, catch up on some rest?”

She straightened in her seat, placing her fingers on the keys. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

He should stop. She was obviously uncomfortable talking to him about this. He felt as if he’d just uncovered the tip of a very large iceberg, though. Should he tell her about Grey’s surprise?

“So, how’s the shipping business these days? Overall, I mean, other than today’s late freighter,” he asked, in spite of his uncertainty. Maybe she’d be more comfortable talking about her work.

Her eyebrows arched. “Not bad. Things are definitely picking up.”

“I’d think that would be a good indicator for the state of the economy.” He shrugged. “People shipping things means other people are buying them, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Do you do this full-time?” He indicated her laptop.

“I do,” she said.

“And do you work regular hours, like a nine-to-five job?” he asked.

He had no idea what he was babbling about, or why he was grilling her. What he really wanted to ask her was if all their running around was good for Grey, because, obviously, Grey didn’t think so. Lucas didn’t know her well enough to go there, though. He still wasn’t sure why he even cared, but the memory of the hope in her son’s eyes kept him where he was.

“Some days. Not always,” she said. She unfolded her arms, though her posture remained stiff. “I teach kickboxing a couple of afternoons a week, so I work around that. It depends on what’s happening. I work on reports some evenings.” She smiled tightly. “Depending on what time we get done with soccer or rock climbing.”

“Wow, sounds like you two do keep pretty busy. And when do you sleep?”

She gestured with her hand. “Oh, sleep is overrated.”

Bingo. She didn’t sleep. Toby had slept all the time. Neither was a good scenario.

He said, “I think sleep is very important.”

Her gaze again drifted out the window beside her. “Well, lots of things are important.”

He nodded. He’d pressed her enough. “I should get back to work.”

Her eyebrows arched again. She checked her laptop monitor then said, “I hadn’t realized it was this late. I need to finish up so I can get to my class.”

“Sure, I didn’t mean to keep you. It was nice chatting with you, Claire. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yes...thanks...Lucas,” she said and for a moment her gaze caught his.

He thought she might say more, but then her gaze flicked away. Her shoulders rounded as though a weight pressed down on her. An air of loneliness descended on her as she turned back to her laptop.

Lucas headed to his office. Why had he let the kid get to him? Was that really loneliness he sensed in Claire? Or was that loneliness a symptom of something more troubling? As much as he hated to interfere, he felt compelled to help in some way.

Did the kid even want him to? Well, maybe not him, specifically, but someone. Surely, on some level, Grey suspected something was up with his mother.

You could have prevented this.

Maybe Louisa hadn’t been right about Toby. Lucas hadn’t really understood what his friend had been going through then, but now he recognized the signs. He didn’t know Grey and Claire, but he was drawn to them. Maybe it was Claire’s isolation that called to him. Toby had pushed everyone away for weeks before he’d blown out his brains. Would there be any harm in Lucas befriending this woman and her son? What if Claire had isolated herself to the point of not having anyone to talk to? If he acted as a sounding board, she might eventually admit that keeping Grey constantly on the go wasn’t the best for him.

Maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead.

Grey’s haunted plea drifted to him again as he peered out of his open office door to where Claire was packing up her laptop. Maybe the problem wasn’t complicated at all. Maybe all Claire needed was a friend.

CHAPTER FOUR

DUSK APPROACHED AS Grey pushed himself off the ground, feeling both exhausted and angry. Nate Patterson hooted his exultation over once again getting the ball past him. Hell, it was happening more and more these days. Grey should be used to it.

But he wasn’t.

Nate trotted toward him. Grey brushed the dirt from his hand then extended it, though he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“Nice dive, Murphy,” Nate said and pumped his hand with genuine enthusiasm.

Grey pressed his lips together, for fear the anger might spurt from him in a less-than-sportsmanlike manner. He nodded and Nate sped away, whooping with his teammates as the ending whistle shrilled.

At least the torment of this game was over. After a short pep talk from their coach, Grey headed across the soccer field toward the parking lot, scanning it for his mom. Too bad she’d missed another of his magnificent fails. If she’d seen how he’d sucked throughout that game, she’d understand his decision.

He was done.

The sun streamed down, glinting off metal and drawing his attention. His mom was standing on the far hill nearest the parking lot, something bulky slung across her shoulder. As she drew closer, he groaned. She was carrying a golf bag and clubs. She had to be kidding.

When she was within hearing distance, she smiled and waved. “Hi, honey!”

He shuffled toward her, shaking his head, refusing to ask the obvious.

She waved to his coach in the distance, and then ruffled his hair. He ducked away, hurrying toward the car.

“Hey, don’t I get a hello?” she asked. She caught him in a few quick strides. For a small woman, she moved quickly.

“Hello,” he said, keeping his attention on the parking lot. The sooner he got them to the car, the sooner they’d get home, where he could shut himself into his room and try to block out the noise.

“How was the game? I’m sorry I missed it. I had a lost shipment....”

Couldn’t she just drive them home for once and not expect him to talk?

“Look what I got,” she said. “Saw them at a yard sale earlier and had to stop. We can fit in a little golf on Sundays, before rock climbing.”

He shook his head and kept walking. What the hell did she expect him to say?

“Grey?” She touched his arm.

He twisted out of reach and increased his pace.

“Hey, what’s up?” She stopped.

He stopped, without turning around, closed his eyes and said, “I’m done.”

Mom moved in front of him, shifting the golf bag on her shoulder. “What do you mean, you’re done? Did the game not go well?”

Grey was too tired to be polite. “What don’t you get? I’m done, finished,” he said and swept his arms wide. “I’m through with all of it.”

Her mouth and eyebrows puckered like she was trying to understand. “You don’t want to play soccer anymore?”

“No,” he said. He had trouble keeping his voice level. His throat tightened. “I hate it.”

She frowned. “But you love soccer.”

“That was before—before rock climbing, before all the other stuff.” He waved his hand toward the clubs. “Before golf. I...” He shook his head. Soccer was just part of the problem, but he’d settle for this one concession. “I’m not playing soccer anymore.”

His mother met his gaze, her mouth quirked to the side. “I don’t know, Grey,” she said. “You know how I feel about idle time.”

“I’ll do stuff at home.”

She glanced away, her jaw tense. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, hon.”

“Then say I can quit. I don’t get why we have to always be doing something. We didn’t used to be like that. We used to have downtime.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground and she said, “Well, downtime is overrated.”

The urge to hit something welled up inside him. Without responding, he turned and headed again toward the car.

He glanced over his shoulder. The light had gone from his mother’s eyes. She seemed beaten down, defeated. The look struck him in the pit of his stomach.

When had that started? She’d always been tough, ever since he could remember.

Thinking back now, though, he had to admit she’d worn that defeated look on other occasions when she hadn’t thought he’d noticed. At some point, somehow, she’d changed.

And it wasn’t for the better.

* * *

A COLD WIND hit Lucas as he opened the back door of the coffee shop, trash bag in hand. Ramsey Carter, one of the high schoolers who worked part-time, pushed himself away from the wall and stubbed out a cigarette. He took the bag from Lucas.

“I was going to get that,” he said.

Lucas nodded at the cigarette butt. “I thought you were quitting.”

Ramsey grunted as he shoved the bag into the Dumpster. “I am. Maybe I should try a patch or something.”

“You’re pretty tough,” Lucas said. “You can kick a little nicotine.”

Ramsey was tough. Lucas had met him in this very spot nearly a year ago. The kid had taken a gang beat-down. Lucas had first befriended him, then eventually given him a job.

“I know,” Ramsey said. “I’ll do it. I’ll quit. I’ve just been a little stressed. You know, senior year and all.”

In spite of the cigarette breaks, Ramsey more than pulled his weight at The Coffee Stop. Lucas crossed his arms. “Have you figured out yet what you’ll do when you graduate?”

“College for sure, if I can get in. It’ll have to be in state. At least my grades should get me some Hope Scholarship money.”

“That’s a good move. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if I’d gone that route,” Lucas said.

Would Toby have gone with him to college? Would they have stayed out of the gangs, out of the military, and kept his friend alive?

Ramsey gestured toward the building behind them. “Looks like you managed okay.”

Lucas let his gaze travel over the back of the shop. “I’m not exactly saving the world, but I am managing.”

“You saved me,” Ramsey said quietly.

“You’re smarter than I was. You would’ve eventually figured things out on your own. I think you already knew you didn’t want that life anymore.”

“I just got kind of sucked into it.”

“I know,” Lucas said. “Happens to the best of us.”

But Ramsey didn’t smile. “I don’t know if I ever said a proper thank-you for all you’ve done for me.”

“Thank me by going to college and making something of yourself.”

Ramsey nodded. “It’s a lot to figure out, you know, who I am and what I want to be. You said you joined the marines to straighten yourself out, but what made you decide to become a medevac pilot?”

“I was an EMT first. I guess I did that because I liked being able to help people.” And helping people had felt good, because he’d spent too much of his childhood feeling helpless—helpless in the face of the rage that consumed his father in the days he was still with them and drinking.

“So, why did you stop? I mean, couldn’t you still be an EMT, even if you weren’t in the marines?” Ramsey asked.

“I just wanted a change,” Lucas said. “So, do we need to cut back your hours, so you can quit stressing about college?”

“No, I’m good. I want the hours. I’m saving all I can to help pay tuition. I don’t want to put it all on my folks.”

Lucas nodded.

“I’m going to head back. Ken probably thinks I ran off or something.”

Lucas followed the boy inside, turning into his office, as Ramsey headed toward the front. Lucas settled into his chair.

So, why did you stop?

That question had haunted him for the past year and a half, since he’d bought The Coffee Stop. Helping people had made him feel useful, but when Toby died, Lucas stopped feeling anything for a while. He wasn’t really sure why he’d walked away to buy this shop, but somewhere, somehow, he’d wanted a little peace after all the trauma.

Still, had that been enough to have him turn his back on a career he’d been proud of, one that had fulfilled him? He’d had his share of people die on his watch. Each one felt like a penance of sorts, his punishment for the violence of his past. But he’d also saved lives. It seemed that after Toby, all he could focus on were the losses, though. And then he couldn’t take it anymore.

He glanced around the cluttered office. He might not be saving people here. Owning a coffee shop might not be the most rewarding occupation, but at least nobody died on his watch here. That had to count for something.

* * *

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Claire frowned as Grey shuffled into the coffee shop beside her. He hadn’t given up his plan to quit soccer. Why was he acting up now when she had so little energy to deal with him?

She stiffened as Lucas Williams stepped to the counter. As his green gaze met hers, her pulse raced and her stomach fluttered. That too-familiar fear stirred in her, warring with unwanted...curiosity. Why had he been so friendly with her the other day?

Not that she hadn’t enjoyed meeting him. He had the broad shoulders and strong demeanor that made her nervous, but something in his eyes calmed her and drew her in.

“Good morning, Claire,” he said, then nodded toward Grey. “Grey.”

Grey simply waved.

“Good morning, Lucas,” she said.

Even with the counter between them, his energy seemed to reach out and touch her. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. She focused on her wallet, pulling out her debit card.

Her nerves couldn’t handle him this early. She said, “Large Americano, double shot, two pumps of vanilla, room for cream and a banana-strawberry sm—”

“Espresso,” Grey said and crossed his arms. “No smoothie. I want an espresso.”

Lucas grinned and asked, “Do you want just a shot, straight up, or in an Americano, like your mom, or do you prefer something else?”

Grey hesitated.

“Honey, are you sure?” Claire asked. “You’re still a bit young for coffee.”

Her son ignored her and asked Lucas, “Can’t you mix it into a drink with milk or something and some sweet stuff?”

“Hot or cold?” Lucas asked.

“Hot.”

“Do you like chocolate?”

“I’m a kid. What do you think?” Grey asked.

Lucas grinned. “You don’t have to be a kid to appreciate chocolate,” he said. “I’ve got just the thing.”

As he moved away to make the drinks, Claire turned to Grey. “So, no more smoothies and no more soccer. That’s the new plan?” she asked.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You mean you’re cool with no soccer?”

“We’re going to have to find something else for you to do. I don’t know if Becca is up to having you stay there more than you do already. I hate to even ask her,” she said. “She’s so strict about their schedule and having it quiet when your uncle Kyle gets home. And you can’t be home alone.”

“Why can’t you be at home? You used to work from home all the time,” Grey said.

She didn’t answer as they moved down the counter. The quiet and isolation of being home were too hard for her. Cranking her music merely held the flashbacks at bay. If she ever stopped to think about the quiet behind the music...

“Maybe you can stay with Gram,” she said. “She’s always complaining she doesn’t see you enough. She wants you to visit some weekend, by the way—spend the night.”

“Gram?” Grey shook his head, his voice rising. “I don’t want to stay with Gram. I want to stay with you. At home. You can work from there, like you used to.”

Claire glanced at Lucas, embarrassed the man should witness her argument with her son. “This isn’t the time or the place,” she said to Grey. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“I don’t want to talk about it later,” Grey said. He swiped his sleeve across his face. “I’ll go stay with Gram this weekend if I have to, but I’m not staying with her after school. It doesn’t make sense.”

The sun streamed through the glass front door. Claire focused on the beam of light. If only she could dissolve into the sunshine, she wouldn’t have to deal with this. She turned to Grey and touched his shoulder, but he shook her off. Why couldn’t he just be happy with things the way they were?

“Grey,” she said, keeping her tone steady. “I’ll let Gram know you can stay Friday night. We’ll talk about the rest later. I have to think about whether I can work from home with you there or see if she’s okay with having you three afternoons a week. It’s a lot to ask.”

Grey stood stiffly beside her. “She won’t mind,” he said. “She likes hanging out with me.”

“Americano double shot, two pumps of vanilla, with room. I added a little whipped cream on top.” Lucas placed their drinks on the counter. “And a mocha java latte.”

With a nod, Grey scooped up his drink. He took a hesitant sip, then another longer one before saying, “I like it. Thanks.”

As Grey headed toward the door, Claire turned to Lucas. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused. “He’s just testing his boundaries.”

“Yes,” she said and glanced at her son, hovering inside the door, sipping his latte.

“I made it decaf. He should be okay.”

“I appreciate that,” she said. “Caffeine isn’t what concerns me, though. It’s the quitting soccer.”

Lucas glanced at Grey. “Guess that depends on why he wants to quit.”

Her gaze settled on her son, still focused on his drink. “I think...he’s just tired.”

“Tired?” Lucas asked.

What was it about the man that had compelled her to even mention it to him? “We keep pretty busy, like I said, always on the go.” She hated admitting it. “I guess it’s too much for him.”

“I know we’ve had this conversation, but everyone needs downtime,” he said. “Even you.”

Heat flooded her. She settled her purse on her shoulder, readying to bolt. “You don’t really know me and we have had this conversation.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just that I can see you’re a good mother, Claire. And I can’t say that I’m an expert, or that I know anything about raising a kid, but I do know it isn’t easy. I can’t imagine doing it alone.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lucas, but I’m not entirely alone. My sister takes him some days after school.” She shrugged. “There’s my mom, too, and he has a friend he stays with sometimes. I trade off with his mom.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just that if Grey’s anything like I was—and I was raised by a single mom—I can understand your concern about him having too much free time. If his dad isn’t around, he could probably use a good male role model. Maybe someone from the Big Brothers Association could help with that.” He shrugged. “At least, I wish I’d had something like that when I was his age.”

Her gaze met his as she said, “Actually, that could be exactly what he needs. I’ll check it out, thanks.”

“Of course,” he said. “Just a suggestion.” He spread his hands and said, “I really don’t mean to butt in. I just... I was a little like Grey when I was a kid. My dad split early, thankfully, and it was just my mother and me. I might have avoided some of the...trouble I got into later if I’d had someone looking out for me.”

Something about his reference to trouble raised goose bumps of foreboding across her skin. She rubbed her arms. “I’ve been thinking about finding him someone like that. I’ll look into it.”

She motioned toward Grey. “I’d better get him to school.”

Lucas nodded, a smile curving his lips. “Okay, Claire,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

The timber of his voice saying her name again made her stomach flutter. She inhaled a steadying breath as she hurried toward Grey. She couldn’t be interested in Lucas. He was too strong, with those shoulders and arms of his. His thin T-shirt did little to hide the definition of his muscles. That much strength was dangerous.

She had to get herself together and figure out how to deal with Grey. She had way too much on her hands to think about a man for now, especially one that pushed her out of her comfort zone.

Everyone needs downtime. Even you.

If she could have downtime that didn’t make her jump out of her skin, she might be inclined to agree. But as things were, that just wasn’t going to happen.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DESTINATION ON YOUR left.” The monotone of the GPS was barely audible above the musical notes of Staind as Claire cruised along Edgewood Avenue in Atlanta that afternoon.

She peered at the building to her left. Rows of windows overlooked the street, concrete and glass in the heart of downtown. She found the entrance to the parking garage, her stomach knotting as she finally pulled into a spot.

She smoothed her skirt as she waited for the elevator at one end of the garage. When the doors opened, she saw a man in jeans standing to one side, his width taking half the space.

Her heart sped up as she hesitated, her fingers tingling. He pressed the button to stop the doors from closing. “Are you coming?”

Without speaking, she stepped in beside him, her gaze riveted on the panel of buttons, her pulse kicking up at his proximity. She hated this, how nothing more than sharing an elevator could send her anxiety through the roof. Within moments the door opened and she hurried into the lobby, the wide space and flurry of activity soothing her nerves.

I am safe. I am strong. No one can hurt me.

Five minutes later she stood in front of the receptionist’s counter at the Big Brothers and Big Sisters Association of Greater Atlanta. A young man with spiked hair greeted her.

“I’m Claire Murphy,” she said. “I’m here to see Doug Straighter.”

“I’ll let Mr. Straighter know you’re here.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then settled in one of the chairs in the waiting area, shaking the tingling from her hands. The quiet of the place pressed in around her and her heartbeat accelerated again. Pain squeezed up the back of her head, thudding along her skull.

A few moments later a stocky, gray-haired man emerged from a side door. “Ms. Murphy, I’m Doug Straighter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His deep voice rumbled through her. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she stood. He extended his hand and she took it, even as her instincts urged her to withdraw.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” she said.

“Come on back and we’ll see what we can do for you and your son.”

He led her down a short hall to an open area with tables and chairs. A younger man with a wiry build moved toward the door as they entered. His gaze swept over Claire and she stiffened, the hairs on her arms prickling.

“George.” Straighter shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you. How’s life treating you these days?”

The new man nodded, though his attention remained on Claire. He said, “No complaints. How about you, Doug? How’s the family?”

“Enjoying the cooler weather,” Straighter said. He smiled and waved as the younger man continued toward the door. “You have a good one, George.”

“You, too,” the man said. His gaze swept over Claire once more before he departed.

With that, Claire stood alone with Doug Straighter, the director of the Atlanta BBBS. A big man, he stood over a foot taller than her. He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and gestured for her to sit. Once she was settled, he took the seat to her right.

“George is a great example of what we do here,” he said, motioning toward the door. “He came here as a troubled kid fifteen years ago and now he’s one of our best ‘Bigs.’”

Claire nodded, her head throbbing. Whatever trouble the younger man had been in, it seemed to still emanate from him. A car backfired on the street and she jumped.

She clasped her hands, silently chastising herself as the urge to bolt overwhelmed her. This was an important meeting. She had to find a way to get through it for Grey’s sake.

“It seems a little deserted here today. Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Ah, we have events sometimes where we all meet here, but most of the fun happens out in the real world, one-on-one with the kids and their Big Brothers and Sisters.”

He shifted and his knee knocked her chair. She jumped, her cheeks warming at her own reaction. She said, “So, what kind of people volunteer to be Big Brothers and Sisters? I saw on your website that you screen candidates.”

“We do a thorough background check. We get people of all types, from guys like George—a former street kid turned entrepreneur—to retirees. We even have a former pro basketball player and a former Miss Georgia.”

He paused and the buzzing of the overhead light filled the silence. Claire broke into a sweat, her chest tightening with the pounding of her heart. Her seat seemed to shift beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut and the pressure in her head intensified. Suddenly, she was transported back to that afternoon, a little over a year ago, and the quiet of her house....

The silence blanketed her. The scent of musk drifted in the air as a floorboard creaked behind her. The cold blade of a knife pressed to her throat....

“I’m sorry,” she said as the urge to flee drove her to her feet, and she gripped her purse to her chest. The floor seemed to pitch as she tried to remain upright.

“Ms. Murphy, is everything all right? You don’t look well,” Doug Straighter said as he stood beside her. He reached for her as though to steady her.

She recoiled from his hand. “I’m...fine. I have another appointment I forgot about.”

“Well, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk about your son. We can reschedule if you’d like.”

She swallowed hard, the need for fresh air overwhelming her. “Yes, I’ll reschedule,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She fled without looking back.

* * *

SOME TIME LATER, Claire turned the corner to Becca’s house. She’d made it to her car before the anxiety attack hit her full force and she’d dropped to her knees, right in the parking garage. Shame burned through her. Thankfully, no one had witnessed her breakdown and she’d eventually struggled into the car, where she sat, panicking for who knew how long before she was calm enough to drive.

She pulled to the curb in front of her sister’s house. Her mother’s car, an old Buick, sat in the driveway. The knot in Claire’s stomach tightened. She still hadn’t decided what to do with Grey instead of soccer practice. Could she handle working from home with him there?

Besides having to be home for a longer period of time, she’d also have to turn down her music. He’d need the quiet to do homework. Maybe she should talk to her mom about keeping him, but facing her mother while feeling like a complete failure held little appeal.

Janet Bradington, Claire’s mother, greeted her moments later as she pushed through the sunroom door. “You’re early,” she said.

Claire pasted on a smile. She’d had her commute through Atlanta’s late-afternoon traffic to recover, but she couldn’t quell her disappointment over blowing her appointment with BBBS. Grey still needed a good male role model and she wasn’t any closer to finding him one than she’d been that morning.

“My appointment finished earlier than expected. Where’s Grey?” she asked.

Her mother nodded toward the open bank of windows. “He’s down by the creek with Becca and Amanda,” she said. “It’s too muddy for me. I just took them some lemonade. Would you like some?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Did he do his homework?”

“He did it first thing. He said you’re okay with him staying Friday night,” her mother said.

Claire shrugged. “Sure. You two will have fun.”

She inhaled. Maybe she could get some of her running friends to go out with her after their run that evening. At the very least, she’d be able to crank her music all night without worrying about disturbing Grey.

“I’m looking forward to having him to myself,” her mother said and nodded to the chair beside her. “Why don’t you take a load off? You look like you’re about to fall over. Grey, too. Don’t the two of you believe in sleep?”

“We sleep,” Claire said as she sank into the chair. She should get Grey and leave, but unfortunately her mother was right. Fatigue pulled at her. Maybe she could rest just for a minute.

“Well, not enough by the look of either of you. I get at least seven and a half hours of sleep every night. My doctor says I’m as healthy as a woman ten years younger.”

“Good for you, Mother,” Claire said and propped her feet on the coffee table before her. She closed her eyes.

“Honestly, hon, I’m worried about both of you.”

Claire sighed and opened her eyes. “We’re fine.” She leaned toward her mother. “I do have a favor to ask, though. If it’s too much I understand, but we have a little change in his schedule and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Her mother nodded. “He mentioned he wants to quit soccer. I can’t say that I’m surprised. You two can’t keep on the go all the time. I can only imagine how exhausting it is. I can’t comprehend why you would do that to yourself, let alone to your son.”

Claire tightened her jaw in frustration. No matter how old she got, she’d always be an irresponsible kid to her mother, one who never made the right choices—one whose troubles were always her own fault.

“We’re okay, and, yes, he wants to quit soccer,” she said. “But I have to work and he can’t be home alone. I feel like we can’t ask any more of Becca. You know how Kyle is. Grey’s staying longer in the afternoons would be a disruption for them.”

“Why can’t you work from home?”

Claire waved her hand. Her mother had already proven she would never understand—or accept—the truth. “I might try it, but would you be able to watch him if it turns out I can’t work while he’s there? It’s after school Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. If it’s too much trouble for you to get him from school, I’d run him over to you, then pick him up afterward. I know it’s a lot to ask, but you were saying you don’t see enough of him. I just wanted to see if it’s an option.”

Her mother sat in silence, frowning. At last she nodded. “Of course Grey is always welcome with me. I’m doing a little more consulting these days, though. I can work around his schedule for the most part, but I can’t get him until later in the day. He can still go to Becca’s and I can pick him up from there. Just let me know what you decide.”

“Thank you, Mother, I really appreciate it.”

“I’d be happy to see more of him. He’s at a good age,” she said, smiling. “I can even watch him evenings and weekends. You should be going out more, Claire, dating. It isn’t right for you to be single. Both you and Grey could use some male interaction. For obviously different reasons, of course.”

Claire pressed her lips together. “No, I’m not interested in dating and, yes, I agree Grey needs a good male role model,” she said. “I’m working on it. I’m checking into getting him a Big Brother.”

“Really?” Her mother leaned back, arms folded.

“Yes.” Claire said. Would she ever be able to set up another meeting? “Really. Why, what’s wrong with that? I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Nothing, sweetheart—a Big Brother could be a good thing. I just don’t know why Grey needs someone who isn’t family or a friend. What about Kyle? Can’t he spend more time with him? Or how about Ned, my next-door neighbor? His kids are grown and he has more time on his hands than he knows what to do with.”

Why did her mother find fault with everything she did? If Becca had suggested the BBBS, would her mother have been open to it? Claire shouldn’t be resentful when her mother was trying to help. But still...

“I’m perfectly comfortable with the Big Brother program,” she said. “They’re people who volunteer their time to be with kids. They’re well screened. Which is more than I can say for your choice of friends.”

Her mother stiffened at the reference to her former friend, the man she’d admired so much that she’d refused to believe Claire after the attack.

“Phil Adams was an upstanding citizen. He sat on the board of the homeowners association for years and city council wouldn’t have been the same without him.”

Claire stood. “Well, you and I have very different opinions on what constitutes an upstanding citizen, Mother.” She headed toward the screen door. “I’ll drop Grey by after school on Friday.”

CHAPTER SIX

“KEN, IT looks like we’re going to run short on a few supplies before the next shipment,” Lucas said to the older gentleman. “I’m going to make a quick run to get what we need to tide us over.”

“No problem,” Ken said. “I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

Slipping his jacket on, Lucas pushed through the front door, into the sunlit day. As he patted his pockets for his keys, a familiar brunette rolled into the parking space beside him.

He’d been thinking about Claire since their conversation the other morning. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from giving his opinion about Grey’s need for a role model. And, of course, he’d pushed again about the downtime. As he thought about it, his whole approach to her was colored by Grey’s desire to de-stress their life, but Claire still had no idea Lucas knew about that. She no doubt thought of him as a creep, who stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. He’d been looking for an opportunity to smooth things over with her ever since.

She slipped out of her car and, thankfully, acknowledged him with a little wave. He returned the wave and smiled. “Welcome back.”

Now that she was here, he had no idea how to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug with her. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of The Coffee Stop.

“You’re not working this afternoon?” she asked.

At least she was still speaking to him. He again patted his pockets for his elusive keys. “I’m making a quick supply run.”

She nodded and adjusted the shoulder strap of her computer bag. “Well, I’m going to get some work done.”

“Claire,” he said and she paused. “I just want to say I shouldn’t have butted in the other day. You know, harping on you about your schedule and suggesting the Big Brother thing for Grey. I was out of line.”

Again, she nodded, but then stepped closer to him. “It’s okay. You made some valid points.” Her cheeks pinked. “I’m going to look into the Big Brother program. It was a good suggestion.”

She glanced through his car window as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets, still searching for his keys. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

His keys dangled from the ignition.

“Well, that’s no good,” he said and jiggled the door handle to no avail. He walked around the car, checking all the doors. But all of them were locked.

“Do you have a spare set?” she asked.

“I must have had one at some point, but I have no idea where it would be. I guess I’ll call a locksmith.”

She pulled out her own keys. “I think I have a coat hanger in my car, if you want to give that a try first.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

She opened the passenger door beside him and felt around under the seat, but came up empty-handed. “Hold on.”

She moved to the back door and tried again from that angle. “I’m pretty sure it’s under here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind calling a locksmith.”

“No, I’m sure I have one. It was from some dry cleaning and Grey stuck it under there. Let’s move the seat up.” She climbed into the backseat and leaned over the front, searching for the lever on the left side of the seat.

“Let me get this out of the way,” she said as she grabbed a book bag from between the seats and slung it into the passenger seat.

The contents spilled across the blue upholstery, displaying printed pages marked with yellow highlighter. Lucas hurried to gather the documents, but paused as his gaze fell on one of the highlighted phrases.

PTSD Symptoms: Traumatic Flashbacks

“I’ll get that,” Claire said as she grabbed the papers from his hands.

Before he could comment, she’d shoved everything back into the book bag and resumed fumbling with the lever.

“Let me,” he said and she moved aside to let him pull the lever. The seat slid forward and she was finally able to extract the sought-after hanger.

She didn’t meet his gaze as she handed it to him. “I knew I had one.”

“Claire—” He had so much he wanted to ask her, but the last thing he wanted was to push her again. Was she researching PTSD for herself?

“Why don’t you just keep that?” she said as she closed the back door of her car. “I don’t need it.”

“Okay, thanks.” He wanted to reach out to her, tell her he understood too well what she was suffering—if that was what she was suffering—but at the same time his stomach tightened at the memory of Toby, gaunt and emotionless.

“I’d better get to work. I have a deadline on a contract,” she said, still not making eye contact.

“Sure,” he said. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

She nodded as she inhaled and straightened. Her gaze met his and as before, it seemed she might say more, but she merely nodded again, and headed into the coffe shop.

* * *

THE SMOOTH TONES of jazz floated through the air a short while later as Claire tried to relax into her favorite chair at The Coffee Stop. She glanced around once more to see if Lucas had returned.

What did it matter that he’d seen the articles she’d printed on PTSD? She had nothing to hide. She was just getting to know the man and if he decided not to pursue their friendship because of them, then she’d count her blessings.

But what if he mentioned the articles around Grey? Even as the question shot through her mind, she chided herself on how foolish she was being.

Lucas probably hadn’t given the papers a second thought. If he had, wouldn’t he have asked her then? She should have said something at the time, though what that would have been, she couldn’t fathom.

She should have just told him she was researching PTSD for herself. There was no shame in that. She’d already picked up a few techniques to help her nip flashbacks in the bud. Not that she’d perfected any of them, but she was trying.

She inhaled and tried to focus on her latest contract. What did it matter to her what Lucas thought? A little voice whispered that it did matter, because on some level, she was starting to like the man.

It had been too long since she’d had a real friend to confide in. If Lucas knew about her PTSD and accepted her, in spite of that, maybe he’d be someone she could talk to. Heaven knew she couldn’t talk to her mother or perfect Becca.

Her gaze wandered around the space, which was sprinkled with other patrons. Sometimes, if she were completely honest, she just felt lonely. Is that why she liked it here?

The music was usually too mellow for her tastes. The clientele seemed to be more on the quiet side. The afternoon barista was a kid who, like the guy from the BBBS, seemed to radiate a troubled vibe. Yet, people always occupied the upholstered chairs and sofas, as well as the traditional café-style tables and chairs. In its own laidback way the shop provided enough distraction to keep her from jumping out of her skin. There was something of a community feeling here, even if she only felt remotely connected to it.

Besides, somehow she managed to complete her work here, where she struggled to do so in other places.

Why can’t you work at home?

Grey’s question still haunted her. But just the thought of a quiet afternoon at home sent fear swirling through her, as though that one day had conditioned her to react to those particular circumstances.

Dust motes circled in the beam of sunshine streaming through the window by her seat. They swirled and dropped in a peaceful dance to the strains of a saxophone and horns. The tinkling of the front door drew her attention.

The older couple, who usually sat together on the overstuffed sofa at the back, entered. A younger woman, perhaps their daughter, strode arm in arm with the man.

“Lucas,” the older woman said and motioned Lucas out from behind the counter.

Claire straightened at the sight of him. He must have returned through a back door. The usual adrenaline spiked through her at the sight of his strength. But with Lucas the adrenaline didn’t signal something unpleasant, as it did with other strong men. He’d been on her mind since their conversation the other day.

Something about him, the way he blatantly addressed her most pressing issues, the way he apologized for doing so, the way his gaze seemed to see right into her, commanded her respect, even as he pushed her out of her comfort zone.

Lucas glanced her way as he strode to meet the couple and their guest. For the briefest second, his gaze touched hers and her heart raced, sending warmth bursting in her cheeks.

She lowered her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the contract on her laptop monitor. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Lucy here just enlisted. She’s headed for boot camp in a couple of weeks,” the older gentleman said. He had settled on the sofa between the two women, his arm around the younger one, as if he were afraid to let her go.

Again, Lucas’s gaze wandered to Claire. This time she didn’t look away, though her heart hammered so hard it surely showed through her blouse. The green of his eyes seemed to darken, as though a shadow passed over him.

His voice was low, but distinguishable, even across the room. “It takes the right kind of person to make it in the military.”

The older gentleman gripped the young woman’s hand. “You listen to Lucas, honey. He knows.”

The gentleman’s wife leaned over him to address the young woman, saying, “Former marine, he served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was an EMT and medevac pilot.”

A chill passed through Claire. She rubbed her arms. She had no business listening. Again, she focused on the contract, but she read the same sentence three times and had no idea what it said.

“He got shot down once,” the old guy said and gestured toward Lucas. “Tell her.”

Claire held her breath, unable to take her attention off their conversation.

“There isn’t much to say,” Lucas said, ducking his head, as though he didn’t want to tell the story. “We got hit hard. We’d already made two trips out with wounded and had more to go.”

He shook his head. “I managed to land us in one piece, but the engine was toast. We had a kid—he couldn’t have been more than twenty. He should have been on some college campus, but there he was. He’d taken a frag to the head and several to his back. My copilot, he got out with this first lieutenant who’d lost an arm. They went for help, but the kid—we couldn’t move him.”

He paused a moment. “I couldn’t leave him. You never know what you’re capable of until you’re in that situation.” Again he paused, while the dust motes circled. “I held them off until help reached us. It took them fourteen hours.”

He stopped and all remained silent. Claire inhaled. What had happened during those fourteen hours? She closed her eyes.

Fourteen hours. It must have seemed an eternity. Time had a way of stretching during trauma. She’d felt as if she’d been through a time warp that summer day a little over a year ago.

“Like I said, the military isn’t for everyone.” Lucas’s voice kept her in the present. “It turns out I make a better coffee-shop owner than a marine.”

The young woman leaned forward on the sofa. “I’m sure you made a great marine.”

Claire’s gaze swept over the young woman. She tossed her hair and it flowed silkily around her shoulders. Something too much like jealousy swelled in Claire’s chest. What did she care if Lucas was interested in the young woman? It wasn’t like she wanted to date him.

She had enough on her plate without having to worry with fitting another person into her life. No, dating wasn’t on Claire’s to-do list and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“SO, WHY are you hanging around with an old lady, when you could be having fun with someone your own age?” Adana Williams, Lucas’s mother, waved at her son with her paint roller late Friday afternoon. Baby-blue paint spattered the drop cloth below her.

Lucas grinned and repositioned the ladder before climbing back up with his own paint-soaked roller. “What, and miss out on all this fun?” he asked. “What better way to spend a Friday afternoon than with my beautiful madre?”

His mother shook her head as she rolled a streak of blue along the lower portion of the wall of the bedroom section of the efficiency she rented in a friend’s basement. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I love having you around, but I worry about you.”

“No need to worry. I like spending time with you. Who else is going to do all your grunt work for you?”

She frowned at him, though merriment shone in her deep brown eyes. She had her mother’s dark coloring, her South American heritage showing more than the European blood of her father. “I do my own grunt work,” she said. “You just help. Sometimes.”

Laughter rumbled through him. “Like when I helped you move into this place last fall?”

“Okay, maybe you did that one on your own. I had that bum knee,” she said. “I’m not saying I don’t need you at times and appreciate you always, love. I just don’t need you all the time. Between me and that coffee shop of yours when do you have any fun?”

Lucas focused on coating the roller with fresh paint from the tray attached to the top of the ladder. He worked hard to keep The Coffee Stop afloat and to pass on what he could to his mother. She worked long hours as a receptionist, but she couldn’t seem to catch a break financially. Even though it didn’t bother her, he hated that she had to live like this.

“I like being busy,” he said. “What kind of son would I be if I left you to do this by yourself? And I enjoy the shop and I do meet people there.”

“What kind of people?” she asked.

“All kinds. There’s the Grandbys, this sweet older couple who like tea and board games. They want to start holding backgammon tournaments in the shop,” he said with a grin. “They’ve talked me into some group deals for them, but they’ll bring in a lot of new business, so it’s a win-win situation there.”

His mother rubbed at a dab of blue paint on her arm, saying, “But what about customers of the female persuasion? Any single young women frequenting that shop of yours?”

An image of Claire Murphy sprang to Lucas’s mind, with her auburn hair and those brown eyes carrying the weight of the world. He shook his head and said, “None that I’m dating, if that’s what you’re after.”

“No?” His mother regarded him with arched eyebrows. “That took a little long for you to answer. So, there’s at least one woman, but you don’t think you can date her. What makes her undateable? She’s not married, is she?”

“I’m sure we can find something more interesting than my lack of a love life to talk about,” he said. “What about you? How is everything with Richard?”

“He’s away on business, which is why he isn’t here helping me slap paint on the wall, but everything is wonderful so there’s not much to say. And I can’t imagine a more important conversation for a mother to have with her best-loved son—”

“Only son,” he said. “Only child—”

“—than one about why such a loving, healthy, single man should spend all of his time working or helping out his old-lady madre.”

“Number one, you aren’t an old lady, that would be Grandma and even she puts the other abuelas to shame. Number two, I’m happy being single. If I’m meant to be with someone I’ll meet her during the normal course of my life.”

His mother swept her arm, indicating the room. “Well, if this is the normal course of your life, you’re going to be single a long time, my son. I don’t have any young available women crowding into my home.” She shrugged. “Though maybe I can arrange something if you insist on hanging out here all the time.”

Lucas laughed again. “You know I’d put a fast stop to that if I thought you were serious.”

“So, tell me about the woman,” she said.

“What woman?” he asked.

“The one at your shop. The undateable one.”

“Who says there’s a woman?” he asked.

She gave him her sternest mom frown.

He blew out a breath. “There’s this kid. His mother is beautiful, fit, physically healthy. I wouldn’t call her undateable, but I believe she’s...distressed in some way.”

She stared at him. “Distressed?” she asked. “How so? That’s how you describe a scratched coffee table or dented washing machine. Though I suppose we’re all a little distressed these days.” She again raised the roller toward him. “She’s single?”

“One question at a time,” he said as he paused to run the edger along the top of the wall. “Yes, she’s single—at least she says it’s just the two of them. She doesn’t wear a ring.”

“Ah, so you are interested. Go on.”

He traded the edger for the roller, glancing at his mother as he rolled it in the tray and asked, “What makes you think I’m interested?”

“You checked for a ring.”

He bit the inside of his lip. He could say he did that with all attractive women, but his mother knew him too well to buy that. “I didn’t need to check for a ring. She told me it was just the two of them. And if I did, maybe I was looking for the kid’s sake,” he said. “He’s about ten. He should have a man in his life. I just kind of feel for him, you know?”

“Because she’s distressed and that affects him?”

“Well, they both seem a little worn-out, really, but her more so. He’s just getting hit with her flack, but it affects him, definitely.”

“What’s wrong with her? Is she loco?”

He blew out a breath. “I suspect she’s dealing with a case of PTSD, but I don’t really know. She startles, doesn’t sleep, seems to be hypervigilant. And I saw she was reading articles on it, which doesn’t mean anything, but something’s off. I’m just getting to know her.”

“PTSD? Like Toby?” she asked, her tone softening.

He nodded. “Yeah, like Toby.”

“How long has it been, Lucas? Seems like it just happened yesterday.”

“Two years ago last Friday,” he said without emotion.

She nodded and rolled more paint on the wall, saying, “Two years already? I know it’s still hard for you.”

“Yep.”

“And I see why you might not want to date this woman.”

He paused midstroke and said, “You think she reminds me of how I screwed up with Toby?”

“Did you screw up with Toby?” she asked.

He swiped the roller down the wall. “Maybe. Yes, definitely, when we were younger.”

“Helping her won’t bring him back.”

He turned to her. “I know that.”

She met his gaze. “Do you?”

“Yes. I just feel like she could use a friend.”

“And you think you’d make a good friend for her?” she asked.

“Yes, especially if she’s suffering from PTSD. I could help her. I studied it pretty in-depth after Toby...”

“But why do you feel the need to help her?”

He put the roller back in the tray and spread his arms wide. “Why does it matter? One minute you’re asking me why I don’t have a woman in my life and then when I tell you I’m getting to know one, you question it.”

“Because I know you,” she said. “I know how you always feel responsible for other people, even at your own expense.”

He stared at her. “What does that mean?”

“When you were young, when your father was still with us, and you know how he liked his liquor—”

“That’s all over and done with. Do we need to rehash it?” He picked up his roller and smashed it in the paint. He hated thinking about his father, how he’d hurt his mother and Lucas hadn’t been able to stop him.

“The man was an idiot, a cruel idiot, but an idiot—”

“Can we please not talk about him? What does he have to do with this, anyway?” Lucas asked.

“Let me finish. You were seven when he left, so young and so angry.”

“Madre—”

“Lucas, listen to me. He’d come home stinking drunk and he’d get mad about a toy you’d left out or a mess you’d made, or something he made up in his head and he’d always yell at you while he struck me and then you took care of me afterward, bringing me the first-aid kit and ice. He made you feel like it was your fault. But it wasn’t.”

Lucas’s throat tightened. He gripped the roller. His father had been a real bastard. It had been a relief when he’d left. “He never deserved you. I don’t know why you married him.”

“I got you out of the deal, didn’t I?”

He nodded, but didn’t reply. She thought he felt responsible, but he just felt angry. Even at seven he’d known his father’s actions were wrong. How could any of them be Lucas’s fault?

“I just want you to think about why you’re befriending this woman, Lucas, that’s all. It can’t just be about her. It has to be about you, as well. You have to get something from the relationship.”

He swiped at the wall. “I know that. Like I said, I’m just getting to know her. And she did help me today. I locked my keys in my car and she gave me a coat hanger.”

“Well, good,” she said, “but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

They worked in silence for a while. His mother meant well, but she was wrong. Lucas wasn’t trying to save everyone because of some messed-up complex he had over having a sadistic drunk for a father.

He just wanted to do the right thing.

“You’re a good man, Lucas,” his mother said.

He shook his head. It was impossible to ever be annoyed with her. “I try to be.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be my hijo if you weren’t. I’d disown you,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said, smiling. “I’m your one and only. Besides, you love me.”

“Yes, that is true and you are very lovable, once you get past your whole I-have-to-save-the-world thing.”

“I have to save the world?” He regarded her, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, even though it isn’t your place, because you aren’t responsible.”

He groaned.

“Just pointing it out, so you don’t forget.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll forget that one.”

“You might, once you get distracted,” she said.

He climbed down and moved the ladder again before responding. “And how am I going to get distracted?”

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I think a young troubled niño and his distressed madre will prove a very difficult distraction.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “And I don’t know that the kid is troubled. He’s tired for sure, but troubled, I don’t know.”

“Either way, you won’t be able to resist. You’re already getting sucked in. I can tell.”

Lucas shook his head. He hadn’t even mentioned the secret espresso-machine deal. Was his mother right? Would he get sucked deeper into a relationship with Grey and Claire than he meant to? Lucas only wanted to help.

And that did not mean he was trying to save anyone.

“So what else is new?” she asked.

“I made Ramsey a night manager. He’s been there for almost a year now and he makes a decent barista, especially for someone who didn’t know a latte from a cappuccino when he started. But besides that, he’s great with the other employees and I trust him completely with the books.”

“Won’t he be headed to college at some point?”

“I hope so.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. She’d ask, of course.

“So why give him a promotion if he’s leaving?” she asked.

“It will look better on his résumé and it frees me to do more long-term planning,” he said, which was true, but he was thinking about spending some time catching up on the latest treatments for PTSD.

“And...?” she asked.

“And what?”

“And why else did you promote him? Really?”

He lowered the roller and turned to her. “Because he’s the right guy for the job, okay? He has a future he’s planning for and I think he has potential.”

“I see.” Satisfaction laced her tone. “Kind of like you when you were younger?”

“Yes, only I wasn’t fortunate enough to have someone there to pull me out of it.”

“Someone to save you, you mean?” She winked at him when he frowned at her. “Like I said, you’re a good man, Lucas.”

“I’m a damn softy.”

“Yes, but a lovable softy.” She lifted the paint can. “We’re almost out.”

“I’ll go. I need to pick up a few things for The Stop at the building supply store.”

“Thank you, my love. No hurry, though. Tomorrow is fine. I’m done for the day. It’s Friday night. You should be off having fun.” His mother set down the can and wiped her hands on a rag. “And, Lucas...”

“Yes, Madre?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to pull you out of it.”

He climbed from the ladder and hugged her. “You did the best you could for a kid with sadistic-father issues.”

She smacked his arm. “You turned out okay. Even though you’re still trying to save everyone.”

“Well, I’d like to think so.”

* * *

CLAIRE PULLED INTO her mother’s driveway Friday afternoon. She handed Grey his duffel bag from the backseat. “Are you sure you packed everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom, you checked it twice. I have clean underwear and my toothbrush.”

“Good. It’s just that you don’t have extra stuff here, like you do at Aunt Becca’s.”

“I know.” He scrunched his mouth to one side. “Maybe I should leave some extra stuff here.”

She frowned. Did Grey want to start hanging out more at her mother’s? “Do you mean for more overnights?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah, that would be cool. I was just thinking...you know...for after school instead of soccer.” He peered at her expectantly.

“Oh.” She turned fully to him, scooting around in the driver’s seat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I know I kind of left you hanging.”

He nodded.

“Well, I did talk to Gram and she said she’d love to have you in the afternoons.”

Again, he nodded, but his gaze fell to the floor. He didn’t comment.

“You were right, of course. She loves hanging out with you. She can’t get enough.”

He remained silent, his gaze downcast.

“I was thinking about what you said, though—about me working from home and staying with you after school.”

“Really?” His gaze locked on hers. “You actually thought about it?” he asked.

“I did, Grey, and...” She hesitated, almost afraid to say the words, but maybe it was time.

“And?”

“And I think we should give it a try,” she said, raising her hands in a wide gesture. “Worst-case scenario, we head to the coffee shop if I go batty. It’s actually kind of peaceful there—not sure why I like it—but you should be okay doing homework there.”

He frowned. “But we’re going to try at home first?”

She squeezed his arm. “Yes, honey, we’ll try it at home first, starting Monday. I’ll pick you up from school.”

“Or I can ride the bus.”

“Do you like riding the bus?” she asked.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s easier for you that way,” he said as he opened his door. “Cool, let’s tell Gram.”

She smiled. At least Grey was happy. Her mom was likely to be disappointed to not be spending more time with him and heaven knew Claire was apprehensive.

But then again, what wouldn’t she do for her son?

“Hey, Mom, I know why you like the coffee shop,” Grey said, turning to her, grinning, as they headed up the driveway.

“Really? Why?”

“The coffee-shop guy—he’s kind of cool.”

She stopped, surprised. “Lucas?”

Grey continued up the front steps. “Yes, ma’am, Lucas,” he said. “He’s a good guy. Don’t you think?”

“Sure,” she said, frowning. “But why would that make me like the coffee shop?”

His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. “I think he kind of likes you.”

“What? Why would you think that?” Heat filled her cheeks.

“He gave you whipped cream on your Americano.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” she said.

“Really?” Grey shrugged again. “It’s extra and you didn’t even ask for it, but if you say so.”

“I do say so,” she said. “It was just whipped cream.”

“Okay.” Grey smiled. “Well, either way, I like him. I think he’d be cool to hang out with.”

Claire stared after Grey as he reached the last step. He wanted to hang out with Lucas. She sighed. He still needed a good male role model. She’d have to suck it up and go back to the BBBS.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LUCAS INHALED THE scent of lumber as he headed into the building supply store. He needed Spackle to patch the hole in the wall of the stockroom and new brackets for the shelves he wanted to install once that was done.

A familiar female profile caught his attention as he passed the plumbing aisle. Claire Murphy stood before shelves of supplies, a tube of caulking in her hand.

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