Espresso In The Morning

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.