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“I think I’ll go with Luke,” Emerson answers, and I know both of them way too well to know what they’ll be talking about as they drive behind me.

I nod my acknowledgement, rounding my truck, and getting into the driver’s seat. The two of them walk across the street to where Luke’s car is parked, loaded with some boxes that didn’t fit in my truck, and their heads turn toward each other, suspiciously wide smiles on their faces.

I would never admit it to them, but Rumi has that effect on me too.

A smile graces my lips at the thought of possibly seeing her today.

Pulling my truck into an open spot after the short drive to Hey Honey’s, I cut the engine and step into the warm May afternoon. Emerson and Luke are already waiting for me, having been right behind me on the drive over.

Walking through the parking lot, I can feel the two of them buzzing with misplaced excitement as they follow a few steps behind me—as if watching me buy their coffee is the highlight of their week.

I know they are just interested to see who I’m buying said coffee from.

My schedule hasn’t left much time for more of our accidental run-ins since the morning I fixed her door, and, even though I have her number, I couldn’t think of a reason to text her.

I left her house that day with a blueberry muffin and a smile on my face but completely forgot to come up with some sort of excuse to see her again.

I’ll never forget how surprised Rumi was when I brought her chai, Ava’s coffee, and Evee’s milk. She looked at me as if I had given her the world, not a six dollar drink.

And I’d do it again and again, anything to make her happy—the same way I knew I would for Evee when I felt her little fingers wrap around mine, looking down at her big blue eyes.

I felt Rumi watching me as I watched Evee, but I was too mesmerized by the little girl to think much of it.

It was the first time I understood why parents just stare at their kid, even if they’re doing absolutely nothing.

Evee was playing with cereal, putting it in her mouth and then in my hand; I would’ve stood there all day if she wanted me to.

There’s this innate part of me that feels like I know Rumi—like she and I spent time getting to know each other in another life—but there’s so much about who she is that is still unknown to me.

I’ve caught glimpses—taking anything and everything she’ll give me—but I want the whole picture.

Who she was, who she is, and who she wants to be.

And I can’t forget Evee, or the way her big blue eyes can bring me to my knees with a single blink of those long lashes.

Between the two of them, I can’t help but want to grow this friendship, especially as I start to feel more like myself.

And I still need to know what the fuck she was doing driving the night of the accident.

We’re almost at the door when I stop, needing to take a second to think about what I’m going to say to her.

I don’t want to freak her out like I did the first time I barged into the coffee shop when she was working, and I hope she’s thought about me at least a quarter of how much I’ve thought of her these last three weeks.

This connection—this pull—between us can’t just be in my head.

I hear Luke and Emerson ask what I’m doing, but I ignore them, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans before looking down at my black T-shirt, making sure it’s clean.

I feel like I’m a teenager again, unsure of myself and how to properly talk to a pretty girl. I shake my head, feeling embarrassed at the thought.

I’m just here to buy Luke and Emerson coffee and say hello. Maybe ask her how her day is, or what she ended up deciding to do for Evee’s birthday. I could ask her what she’s doing after her shift this morning, or when she wants me to rectify her burnt cookie fiasco like I promised that night.

This isn’t life or death—there’s no fire threatening the lives of people I love; there’s no emergency that needs me; no distressing call that needs answering.

This is Rumi.

My friend.

“Did you forget how to walk, dummy?” Emerson steps around me, walking toward the door and pulling it open, letting herself in.

“What’s wrong, man?” Luke puts a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I answer, but my throat feels dry. I cough into my fist and keep walking.

When I follow Emerson into Hey Honey’s, the sharp scent of espresso hits me.

There’s a hum from the grinders and soft music, and the place is filled with different voices.

There's a couple seated at the table by the windows, a group of girls sitting around the round table, and a few people waiting by the end counter for their drink to be called.

It’s not too busy, which means I won’t be interrupting Rumi in the middle of a rush. My eyes roam the space, immediately landing on her. She’s at the register, talking to my sister, as Ava makes drinks behind the counter.

Luke walks past me, waving to a few patrons who recognize him and heading to where the girls are. I watch as Rumi’s eyes go from Emerson to him, her lips curved in a small smile, the sunlight from the windows caught in her dark hair.

She’s in her usual work attire—a white long sleeved shirt under a black apron. Today, her hair is down, tucked behind her ears rather than braided.

She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I take advantage of the opportunity to look at her—notice parts of her I haven’t before.

There is something so gentle about her, something inherently warm, and though I make no effort to move my feet, some part of me seems to lean closer like my body craves the peace I find when she’s near.

Finally, she sees me, and I know I don’t imagine that flush on her cheeks, that shyness always being what she shows me first.

She gives me a small wave, her bottom lip going between her teeth in an effort to contain a smile, and I lift my hand in a wave back.

Emerson must say something to her because her attention goes back to my sister, so I close the space between me and the counter.

Up close, I can see the soft freckles that dust Rumi’s skin, her long lashes framing those eyes I’ve thought way too much about, her full, dusty pink lips.

She really is beautiful.

And I don't think she has a clue how much so.

Rumi turns to me and says something, but I don’t hear it—only see the movement of those lips. Emerson bumps me, breaking me out of my trance.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask Rumi.

She lets out a little giggle. “Anything for you?”

“Just the coffees for these two,” I say, pointing between Emerson next to me and Luke next to Rumi behind the counter.

She nods, looking down to tap on the iPad in front of her.

“While we’re here, I’m going to place that order for more of the seasonal syrups, so we’re stocked for the summer.” Luke turns to the back office.

“Oh, Evee’s napping in the office,” Rumi quickly says, her voice slightly panicked, as he walks away. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. I can move her,” she rushes out.

Luke turns around. “No, no. It’s fine. You know I don’t mind when she’s here.”

“Are you sure? I’m sorry. It’s just until we find someone to replace Reagan, and Ava and I can go back to alternating shifts.”

I can almost see the lightbulb go off in Emerson’s head—as a freelance artist, she’s developed a good, consistent client base, but I know she’s been looking for other jobs to save money for a new apartment.

“I can do it,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet—both Luke and Rumi’s attention goes to her.

“You want to work here?” Rumi asks her.

Emerson nods. “I was a barista in college, and I could use the extra money.”

“Hired!” Ava interjects after setting down the last drink she was making at the pickup counter, the lull in customers allowing us all to chat by the register. “When can you start?”

“Hey, I thought I was the boss.” Luke crosses his arms, looking at Ava.

“Sure you are,” she says, patting his shoulder then looking back at Emerson.

“When do you need me?” my sister asks Ava.

Ava gestures for Emerson to come with her behind the counter toward the back office, Luke following close behind asking Ava if she was being sarcastic or not, leaving me and Rumi to ourselves.

We both watch as the door to the back office closes, and then look back at each other.

“Looks like you just got my sister a job.”

Rumi shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean?—”

“Why do you always do that?” I ask, interrupting her for no other reason but not wanting to hear her apologize.

“Do what?” she asks.

“Almost every sentence you say either starts or ends with a ‘sorry’.” I cock my head to the side, watching as she processes my question.

“They do not.” She crosses her arms, and the defiance in her makes me raise a brow, wanting to see if I can get more out of her.

“You were just about to apologize for getting my sister a job. How does that make sense?” I put my hands down on the counter, leaning a little forward, wishing it wasn’t between us.

“I just meant—” she stops then starts again, “I just wasn’t sure if I overstepped.”

“With who? Luke? You basically did his job for him,” I challenge.

She uncrosses her arms, looking down at the iPad in front of her, her fingers pushing two loose pieces of hair back behind her ears, but they’re short enough that they’ll untuck if she looks down again.

“I guess I’m just used to apologizing even when I don’t have to,” she answers before turning the iPad with the total for Emerson and Luke’s coffees.

I can tell she doesn’t want to expand on that answer, but I file the words away for later. I look down at the screen. “The total says zero,” I tell her.

“I just need you to sign, firefighter. The coffees are on the house.”

“Rumi, I’m paying for the coffee.”

“Luke doesn’t pay for his coffee because he owns the place, and your sister is our newest employee, so hers is free. Can you just sign?” That defiance is back, I hope I didn’t push her too far.

“If you say ‘please’,” I tease, wanting to see if she’ll give me another smile.