Espresso In The Morning

“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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