Page 6

6

Spencer

One Month Earlier

I t’s coffee day. One day a month, I volunteer to bring everyone on shift a cup of coffee. Why do I do this? Because it makes me less awkward when my co-workers can associate me with a normal mundane task. When I hand them a cup of coffee, hide behind my mask, and put on my “work smile,” they forget that I don’t understand sarcasm as well as my peers or that I might answer a question they haven’t voiced because I noticed their microexpressions. Something I’ve perfected over the years to help me with social cues.

The Hippie Bean is a little shop that personifies its name. It always smells like patchouli with an undertone of coffee. Rainbow tapestries drape along the walls, and I have to avoid staring at them, or they make my mind feel fuzzy with the overload of colors.

The owner, Flower, opens early to complete my order so I can make it to work on time. She knows how much I hate being late. Flower slipped and broke her leg in the store about two years ago, and I was one of the paramedics who came to help her. She took one look at me and proclaimed we were kindred spirits.

The doorbell dings and I glance at my watch before looking over my shoulder. It’s still fifteen minutes before opening. No one should be coming in yet.

My eyes connect with a rugged-looking man. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and boots in the middle of Chicago. It’s not something you see every day, yet he doesn’t look out of place. His brown beard shows hints of red, and I can see dark auburn hair peeking out under his hat.

“Thanks for waiting, asshole.” The doorbell dings again, and my brain tickles. That voice. Why do I know that voice?

“You’re too slow, dickhead.” The man in the cowboy hat has a slight drawl to his words. It’s subtle and probably not noticeable to the untrained ear, but I pick up on those things.

“Boys, behave.” Flower startles me with her reprimand as she stacks the last of my coffees into a large box.

“Sorry, Miss Flower.” That. Voice. It’s deep and rich and so familiar. It’s paired with dark green eyes framed by thick black lashes and hair that reminds me of the color of cinnamon.

“I’m just finishing up with Spencer, and I’ll go grab your pastries from the back.” The bearded man tips his hat at me and then Flower. “Oh, don’t leave yet, Spencer. I want to give you some pastries as well.”

“That’s not necessary, Flower.” She’s gone before I’ve finished my sentence.

“There’s no use arguing, Darlin’. Just let her spoil you.” Cowboy hat offers his hand to me. “Name’s Tucker. I’d like it if you let me help you take this out to your vehicle.” He nods to the box of coffees on the counter as I shake his hand.

Handshaking is something that I’ve perfected. It’s a societal norm. Similar to my ability to handle the ambulance sirens when I drive, I can control a handshake’s firmness and general length, which makes touching someone bearable. You can also tell a lot about someone’s character by their handshake—Tucker’s is firm and confident.

“I can take care of it, but thank you.” I offer a small smile in thanks. Sometimes, my voice is too monotone, and a smile eases my words.

“No use arguing with me either.” Tucker winks and reaches for the box. Once again, the doorbell dings. I freeze. I’m the only one facing the door as the masked man dressed all in black pointing a gun stalks in.

“Nobody move! I just want the money.” Tucker stops with his hands inches away from my coffee box, and his friend’s entire demeanor changes.

“Alright, boys, I have all of your—Ahhhh!” Flower drops her box of pastries and screams as the masked man steps closer, pointing the gun at her. Tucker wraps his arm around my waist and slowly pulls me behind him.

“I just want the money,” the man repeats to Flower. With her hands in the air, she takes tentative steps toward the cash register. Tucker and his friend have a silent conversation, and I hope they aren’t planning to do anything irrational. I’m calm on the outside, but my heart is racing like the Indy 500.

Flower opens the register with trembling hands and passes over all the money. The masked man takes it and walks backward with his head on a swivel, watching all of us. When he passes Tucker’s friend, he spins on his heels to walk out while shoving the money and gun into his pockets.

As if it were slow-playing on a movie screen, Tucker’s friend whips around and tackles the masked man to the ground in a bear hug.

“Lincoln, be careful.” Tucker sees the gun fall out of the masked man’s pocket and rushes over to…Lincoln? I focus my attention on the two men rolling around when I hear Flower talking on the phone. She must have called the police.

“Yes, Officer Reed has him tackled to the floor. Please hurry.” Officer Reed? Lincoln Reed. It can’t be.

“Miss Flower, do you have any zip ties?” Lincoln’s baritone voice booms with exertion from the floor. He’s sitting on the thief’s back, holding both his hands in one of his, and the other hand is holding…a gun? A quick look shows me it’s not the gun that the thief had because that’s kicked in the corner. Where was Lincoln hiding a gun?

“Are you okay, Little Miss?” Tucker’s hands rub up and down my arms. I watch them and wait for the feeling of unease to wash over me, but it doesn’t come.

Sirens outside catch my attention, and two uniformed police officers run through the door. They take over for Lincoln and handcuff the thief, bringing him to his feet and escorting him out the door.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count backward from five, attempting to refocus myself. There’s too much unknown going on around me, and I need to concentrate on one thing. Opening my eyes, I can feel them bouncing around the room, attempting to find anything to help my brain regroup.

“Hey. It’s Spencer, right?” Tucker grabs my cheeks with his large hands, and once again, I wait for the itchy feeling I usually get when someone touches me. Why doesn’t this man elicit the same reactions that everyone else does? Justin is the only other person I’ve ever felt this instant connection with, that someone’s touch didn’t bother me. “Little Miss, talk to me. Please.”

I look deep into Tucker’s eyes. They’re blue. I couldn’t see them until now because they were hidden by his hat. They’re as blue as the color of glass. I can focus on his eyes. My father collects blue glass. Something familiar to focus on.

I grab his wrists to further solidify my connection—to ground me. Tucker’s thumbs slowly glide over my cheek, and suddenly, my eyes are closed, and warm lips feather across mine. He’s holding his breath, and I realize I am too. I can’t tell who got us to this position, him or me. I don’t remember moving, but the light brush of his lips turns searing, and my hands fist into his t-shirt.

Tucker’s tongue sweeps over my lower lip, asking permission to enter, and I part mine. As our tongues tangle together, I feel his fingertips massage the nape of my neck. I imagine if my hair wasn’t in Dutch braids, he’d be running his hand through it, and the thought of that doesn’t make me uncomfortable.

“Spencer, are you o—Oh. Okay.” I pull away at the sound of Justin’s voice. What was I doing? I look down at my hand and release Tucker’s shirt.

“Justin, what are you doing here?” My focus hasn’t left Tucker’s face as I talk to my partner, Justin.

“I-I have to go. Thank you for…” I’m at a loss for words from the smile that radiates on Tucker’s face.

“You’re welcome. And Spencer,”—He reaches into his back pocket and pulls a card out of his wallet.—“I’m the owner of Midnight Moonshine. If you’d ever like to come by, it’s on the house.” He leans close to my ear. “That kiss was fucking incredible, Little Miss. Thank you.”

Tucker walks toward the door, and Justin steps up beside me. I watch Tucker clap a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder as they walk outside to talk to the officers and Flower.

“What the hell was that, Spence? I heard the call come on the radio and knew you’d be here getting everyone’s coffees. I got here as quickly as possible to find you playing tonsil hockey with…Who the hell was he?” Justin plucks the business card from my hand.

“No way. Do you know who that is? That’s Tucker Bennett. According to his card, he owns Midnight Moonshine. And you just had your tongue down his throat. I’m proud of you, friend.” Now I understand the cowboy hat and boots. But…

“Do you know who he was with? Officer Lincoln Reed, I believe.”

“Linc? You know him. Lincoln is one of our dispatchers.” Dispatcher. It’s him—the voice I recognized, the one that makes my stomach flutter whenever I hear it on the radio.

“Of course. Why don’t you take the box of coffee and bring it back to the station? The police might want to talk to me, and I don’t want to leave my car here. Let Chief know I’ll be at the station as soon as I can.”

“I’ll make sure to let Miller know, too. He was freaking out a bit.” Crap.

“Justin, what the hell did I just do?”

“Well, my friend. It looks like you just kissed a stranger. Are you sure you don’t want me to wait with you?” My fingers gently graze my lips. I can still feel the pressure from Tucker’s kiss. It’s still dark outside, but I can see his tall frame in the shadows through the doors.

“Earth to Spencer?”

“What?”

“Was his kiss that good?” Yes. Justin chuckles when I don’t respond. “Okay, I’ll take the hint. You sure you’re okay here?”

“He’s fine.”

“Holy shit, Spence.” I turn my attention away from the window and look at Justin, laughing.

“What’s wrong with you? What’s so funny?”

He’s laughing so hard he lifts his glasses to wipe away a tear. “You. I just asked if you were okay here, and your reply was, ‘He’s fine’.”

“I did not.”

“You did, but I’ll let it go for now. See you at work, Spence.”