The Courage To Say Yes

“Did I say that?”

His silence said so for him. Granted, she’d forgotten a few orders in the beginning, but she’d improved a lot since then. “You’ve ordered the same thing for twelve days,” she told him.

“Nice to know I’m so memorable.”

More like predictable, she wanted to say. Though that wouldn’t be quite true. She certainly hadn’t predicted his behavior yesterday. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“How’s your wrist?”

Exactly the topic she hoped to avoid. “Fine,” she replied in a stiff voice. Her fingers twitched with the urge to tug on her cardigan, to hide the gauze bandage peering out from beneath the cuff. The bruises were darker this morning. Dark enough that simply wearing long sleeves wouldn’t be enough to hide them, so she’d covered them with a bandage. Her plan was to tell anyone who asked that she burned herself. Didn’t it figure, the first person to say anything would be the one man she didn’t want to hear from?

“I’ll be back with your coffee,” she said, turning on her heel.

Damned if she couldn’t feel him watching her walk back to the counter. Awareness washed over her, making her insides quiver. She wasn’t used to being looked at under any circumstances. In fact, Warren was the first man who’d ever paid her any kind of attention. Look how terrific that had turned out. Naturally, having a man as handsome as Hunter scrutinizing her set Abby’s nerves on edge. Doubly so since she knew his scrutiny wasn’t anything more than sympathetic curiosity. It made her feel like some wounded animal in the zoo. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her reflection in the stainless steel. Limp, uncooperative hair; pale skin. Yeah, like she’d attract attention. It scared her to think Warren was right. That he was the best she could do.

Good thing she didn’t mind being alone.

Tugging her cuff down to her knuckles, she made her way back to Hunter’s table.

“You’re going to pull that sleeve out of shape,” he remarked.

So what? It was her sweater. If she wanted to stretch it out, she would. “Do you need cream?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot already?”

“Sorry. Guess you’re not so memorable, after all.” She reached into her apron pocket and removed the plastic creamer pods she’d grabbed when getting his coffee. The motion caused her sleeve to pull upward. Whether Hunter looked at the exposed bandage or not didn’t matter; she felt he was and that was enough.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said suddenly.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He thought he knew her story based on one short encounter. “You’re wrong, though. I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not...” She raised her bandaged arm. “Not anymore. I left Warren.”

“Oh.”

That was it? Oh? Abby watched him as he blew across the top of his cup, his lips pursing ever so slightly. It was the only change in his expression.

“Doesn’t seem to be taking the breakup too well,” he said finally.

“He’ll adjust. Yesterday was...” No need getting into a long, drawn-out explanation. “Look, I’m only explaining because you—”

“Saw the bruises?”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you? They didn’t hear you downtown.” Swiping at her bangs, Abby looked around at the other tables. Fortunately, no one had heard, or if they did, had decided not to share.

“I wanted to make sure you understood the deal. Because of yesterday. Not that I don’t appreciate what you did and all.”

“You’re welcome.”

Abby pursed her lips. “Point is, your help wasn’t necessary. I have the situation under control.”

“I could tell.”

“Seriously, I do.” She didn’t like how his response sounded mocking. It made her even more defensive. Maybe she hadn’t had control at that exact moment, but she would have handled the situation. “So you won’t need to repeat the performance.”

“In other words, mind my own business.”

Exactly. “I’m saying it’s not necessary.”

Hunter nodded into the rim of his cup. “Good to know. I’m not really into rescues to begin with.”

“You’re not?” Could have fooled her.

“Nah. Like you said, it’s not my business.”

“Then why...?”

“Did I step in yesterday?” He shrugged. “What can I say? My mother was a Southerner and raised me to be a gentleman.”

So he was protecting her honor? Abby’s stomach fluttered. “Well, you can tell your mother the lesson sank in.”

“I would, but she’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged again. “Don’t be. It was twenty years ago.”

When he was a kid. The action hero had a sad past. A human side to balance the movie star exterior. Her edge toward him softened a little.

“Abby! Customers!” Guy’s voice cut over the clanging of plates and silverware. “Stick and move, will ya?”

“Duty calls.” Any more conversation would have to wait. “I’ll be back with your eggs soon as they’re ready.”

* * *

Under control, huh? Hunter watched as she bustled off to wait on two businessmen seated two tables over, her knotted ponytail bouncing in cadence with her steps. The gauze on her wrist flashed white as she raised her order pad. Who was she trying to convince with that statement? Him or herself?

Not his business. The lady said she had the situation under control. He was off the hook.

Which suited him fine. Besides, he thought as he raised his coffee mug, maybe the lady did have the situation under control, and that air of vulnerability was all in his head. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a manila folder. Probably not the best way to keep the dark thoughts at bay, but he looked at the photo anyway. It was the picture he’d taken of Abby. After much deliberation, he’d decided to print the photo in black-and-white, finding the absence of color highlighted the shadows on her cheeks.

Hunter stared at her eyes. There it was. The sadness. They always said eyes were the windows of the soul and that photography captured a little slice of that spirit. In Abby’s case, her spirit was wrapped in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Question was, what emotions were they? Photography, like all art, was open to interpretation. What looked soulful could really be distant, simmering resentment waiting to blow up in your face.