Sunset Beach Condos

The bell above the door gave a tired jingle as Minnie stepped into the 59 Diner, its ring barely reaching the handful of patrons scattered in booths and at the counter. No one turned. It was that kind of place, where people came to be left alone.

She stood still for a beat, letting her eyes adjust to the warm, amber gloom. A neon sign buzzed lazily above the register. The floors were worn, and the vinyl seats bore the faded ghosts of past customers, but the space smelled like syrup and coffee, like comfort in a tired body.

Minnie looked the way someone might after a long day turned into a long week. Her blouse, once crisply tucked, had loosened on one side beneath her belted coat. The leather satchel on her shoulder was heavy with museum files, and she clutched a few folders in her hands, pressing them gently to her chest as though they were the only things keeping her upright.

Without a word, she made her way to the last booth in the far corner. Hidden, quiet, and familiar in a strange sort of way. She slid into the seat with a quiet exhale, as if the motion itself took effort, and set her things down carefully, too carefully really, for anyone who wasn’t trying to keep from unraveling.

Her hair had slipped from its morning pins, falling in soft, dark waves around her face. She brushed a strand behind her ear and opened one of the folders, flipping through yellowing documents and grainy images of relics long buried. Her fingers moved with precision, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. Not lost, just… far away.

A waitress appeared, chewing gum behind a pad of paper. “Coffee?”

Minnie nodded. “Yes, please. Just a splash of milk.”

She offered the woman a small smile, tired, polite, not quite reaching her eyes and returned to her notes, though her gaze lingered a little too long on the same line of text.

She wasn’t hiding exactly. Just waiting for the world to feel steady again.

Sunnyside Memorial Hospital was located half a mile away from the beach. Far enough away that one could not see the waves but you sure could smell them. He wasn't used to the beach life. Snow and ice had been his steady companions, only leaving him for a few short months of summer. What they called winter here would have been considered summer where he was from. Talk about your culture shock. He had been sought after and seduced by the promise of a private practice that was attached to a prominent and accredited teaching hospital. It combined the two things he loved, medicine and teaching. Then he moved here.

Most people think doctors, especially surgeons, were wealthy people. Yeah, maybe after practicing for twenty years. Most medical students were up to their eyeballs in debt and barely able to feed themselves from the minimal money they actually brought home and could spend. It was for this reason Dr. Luca was now residing in the less than spectacular lodgings of the Sunset Beach Condos, Room 406.

He had just wrapped up a rather long day of patients and only one emergency surgery. He was too tired to go home and cook and he was sick and tired of takeout and drive thru food. He wanted something that could resemble a home cooked meal. He had heard good things about the food at The Black Anchor, but a bar wasn't really appealing to him. But the little classic looking diner on the other hand, that might just be what the doctor ordered.

He had changed out of his scrubs at the hospital, throwing them in the gym bag he had strapped across his chest. He was in a pair of nice jeans that fit him well, a pair of sensible dress shoes, and a navy blue polo shirt.

He entered the diner and was struck by the attempt at bringing back the feel of the nineteen fifties. He swung by a jukebox that was sitting in the corner to see if it worked. To his surprise it worked! He flipped through the available songs and settled on Bobby Darin's - Dream Lover. With his head bobbing to the beat, he grabbed a seat at the counter and checked out the menu for something that looked good.

Minnie had been fighting off sleep for the better part of an hour, her head nodding over brittle museum notes and half-faded photographs. She’d shifted in the booth more times than she could count, her body too exhausted to focus but too restless to truly rest.

The slam of the bathroom door startled her enough to jolt her upright. A gust of air rushed past, sending the loose pages on her table skittering like startled birds. One caught the breeze and floated up, spinning lazily across the diner floor.

Minnie let out a low, tired grumble, pushing herself to her feet as she went after it. She moved on autopilot, half-asleep, half-dazed, her heels tapping unevenly against the cracked tile. Her fingers brushed the edge of the wayward page just as her foot slid on a forgotten puddle of water near the counter.

Time seemed to slow.

Her ankle twisted sharply beneath her, bending at an angle no ankle was meant to bend. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as she stumbled, arms flailing uselessly for balance. The world tipped sideways, and before she could catch herself, Minnie crumpled hard onto the floor with an ungraceful thud.

The entire diner seemed to freeze.

Color flooded her face immediately, burning a bright, humiliated red. Tears, half from the sharp bite of pain, half from pure mortification, pooled at the corners of her eyes. She squeezed them shut, willing herself not to cry, not to make a scene.

The blasted paper she had chased fluttered up against her knee mockingly. Minnie snatched it up with trembling fingers and tried to push herself up, but the moment she put weight on her injured foot, a lightning bolt of pain shot up her leg. She whimpered and dropped back onto the grimy floor with a soft, broken sound, clutching the page uselessly to her chest.

For a moment she just sat there, ankles throbbing, heart pounding, the sticky diner floor cold against her palms. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of humiliation stronger than the physical pain.

Please, she prayed silently, just let the earth open up and swallow me.

He had barely had the chance to open the menu when there was a thump and a collective intake of breath from the diner at large. Confused as to what might be happening, he laid the menu down and looked over his shoulder curiously. There, on the floor, in the middle of the diner, was a woman who seemed to have fallen. His sea green eyes darted around at all the people staring at her out of interest, but he didn’t see a single person rising to offer assistance. He shook his head and got to his feet to approach her. He showed her his hands as he offered her a comforting smile, “Hey there. I’m a doctor, may I help you?”

There was a strict rule in the medical community and by law that if a person refuses help, hands stayed off. He needed her permission to approach her and to help her. Regardless, he looked up and spotted the first server in his line of sight. “Can we get some ice pronto?” He wasn’t rude, but there was a command in his voice, as if he were in a surgical suit rather than a vintage diner.

His shifted back to the woman on the floor. He eyeballed the ankle and could see the area around her lateral malleolus swelling. He squatted down, “Does anything hurt?” It might appear like a stupid question, but spangs and ligament tears and exponentially more painful than breaks. He would be able to judge how severe her injury is based on her answer.

Minnie took a breath, shaky and uneven, then looked up at the man crouching before her. Her gaze met his only briefly before it dropped again, the heat of embarrassment flaring bright across her already flushed cheeks. She grimaced slightly, and this time, it wasn’t from the pain.

“I…Hi…” Her voice was soft, barely above the diner’s buzz. “I could… use some help getting up.”

She tried again, stubbornly pressing her palm against the sticky floor to lift herself, but the moment her injured ankle shifted beneath her, she hissed sharply and gave up with a quiet curse under her breath. She sank back down and closed her eyes, sucking in a steadying breath before speaking again.

Minnie tilted her head toward the injured foot and glanced at it, exhaling a small, humorless laugh. “Besides my pride… and, well, the rest of me,” she murmured dryly, “I think I might’ve sprained it.”

The bruising had already begun to creep in, a dark bloom spreading over the bone and her ankle looked horribly swollen, like someone had tried to stuff a Christmas ham into her dainty black heel. The strap around her ankle dug in mercilessly, already indenting her skin.

She looked down at it in disbelief, as though her own body had betrayed her with a spectacular lack of grace. Her shoulders slumped. She clutched the rumpled page in her hand like it was the one thing she still had control over.

“Why do these things only happen to me…” she muttered to herself, barely audible, “I just wanted coffee…”

The rest of the diner had gone back to their food, their curiosity satisfied. But Minnie couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole room still had its eyes on her, just waiting to see how much more foolish she could become.

"Whoa," he said as the woman tried to get to feet. Thankfully, she didn't try too hard and sank back down the moment she felt the twinge of pain. He was fairly certain she was correct regarding the sprang, but he would like to be sure.

The server walked by on their way to a table and dropped the bag of ice on the doctor's shoulder. He looked up at her passing server and grabbed the bag of ice on his shoulder. "Thanks," he said offhandedly to the server's back as she walked away from them.

His sea green eyes rested on the fallen female. He offered her a kind smile as he reached his hand out to her. If she allowed, he would help her to her feet and shoulder most of her weight as he assisted her over to one of the seats at the counter. "May I examine you?"

Minnie nodded faintly, her face still burning with embarrassment, and reached down with trembling hands to unbuckle the strap of her heel. Her fingers were unsteady, and every movement sent a dull ache spiraling up her leg, but she managed it with a tight-lipped grimace. The moment the shoe came off, her foot throbbed with a sharp pulse of pain, and she sucked in a breath between her teeth. The skin around her ankle was already darkening, angry and swollen.

She sat back against the booth with a quiet exhale, lifting her eyes to him and offering a small, apologetic smile, one that didn’t quite reach her sorrowful eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “This is probably the last thing you needed after a long day. I mean, you probably just came here to eat, not..not this.”

Her hands fidgeted in her lap, still clutching the rumpled page she’d chased across the floor like it was a lifeline. “I’ve been told I have a bit of… unfortunate timing,” she added, her voice light with self-deprecation, though it wavered at the edges.

Then, suddenly, the words started spilling out.

“I just…I was working all day, I hadn’t eaten, and then the paper flew and I thought I could grab it and-” her breath hitched, “I didn’t even see the puddle, and I was just so tired, and now I’ve made this ridiculous scene and-”

She caught herself, clamping her mouth shut with a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lashes brushing against flushed cheeks as she focused on breathing slowly, deeply, trying to rein it all back in.

One breath. Two.

Her fingers relaxed slightly against the ice-cold table edge. She didn’t open her eyes just yet, but her voice, when she spoke again, was steadier, if only just.

“Sorry. Again. That wasn’t… I’m usually much more composed than this.”

Dr. De Luca crouched down close to the woman’s foot. She had removed her heel, and he had a clear view of the bruising that was pooling around the sprang. He looked up at her as she seemed to feel the need to apologize. It was a courteous gesture but something that was unnecessary. He did accept her apologies politely. "It’s quite alright. It’s more important that you get taken care of.”

He looked back down at her ankle to examine it as she talked about her day and the circumstances that led to her injury. He placed the small bag of ice on her ankle where the swelling was the worst. He held the bag in place, pressing lightly, as he looked up to her again. "Would you be willing to come to my office? I would like to get some x-rays just to be certain there are no breaks. Plus, I can wrap your up there.”

He would understand if she wasn’t comfortable leaving a public place, with a strange man, and traveling to an undisclosed location. Isn’t that how abduction movies start? But he had no intention of harming her. He straightened up and pulled out his wallet. He opened the wallet and pulled out a business card. The card was simple, white with plain black text that read:


"That’s me, in case you were worried that I was some crazy person trying to lure you away.”

Minnie blinked up at him, surprised by the offer. For a moment, she simply studied his face and then her gaze dropped to the simple card in his outstretched hand. She took it gently between her fingers, reading the clean black text with a quiet focus that masked the internal hesitation flickering behind her eyes.

Her brows knit together as she exhaled softly, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “You really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said quietly, though there was a note of genuine gratitude in her voice. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…especially not after the day I’m sure you’ve probably had.”

Still, her tone lacked conviction, as if even she knew how futile it would be to hobble home alone on that ankle.

After a pause, she reached into the pocket of her coat, fingers brushing past her phone and a museum keycard before pinching a small ivory rectangle from a side slot. She offered it to him with a faint smile that didn’t quite hide her nerves.


Her name was written in elegant script above a modest line of contact details.

“If it helps,” she added with a soft breath, “I’m not a runaway bride or a grifter or anything.” She gave a small, shaky laugh. “Just a woman who apparently can’t walk in heels after eighteen hours of work in a chair.”

Her voice dipped, quieter, gentler. “Thank you though. For being kind.”

Geist accepted her business card and looked it over. Another doctor. Not a MD but a doctor all the same. He tucked the card into his back pocket and grinned. "Run-away bride, I could believe, but grifter, you smell too nice." He was trying to relax her with a touch of humor.

He didn't squat back down, though. He took a few steps and sat down on the seat next to her. His eyes were on her foot, the small bag of ice resting over the top of her foot. His eyes, sea green and gentle, looked up into hers. "I'm not allowed to touch you without consent. So, if you don't want an x-ray or me to wrap your foot, then I won't pester you. The offer still stands, though, if you change your mind."

Switching out of "doctor mode" was not an easy task for Geist. He wasn't an overly social guy. He worked, researched, and kept to himself. The world at large hadn't had much to offer him in turns of good luck. At one point, he thought he had found his mate but it never went anywhere. Since then, he kept his head down and concentrated on doing good where he could.

He looked over towards the table she must have vacated before her fall. "May I, at least, help you back to your table?" He was polite, if not friendly. He was always praised for his bedside manner but the moment he left the room, the sunshine in him set and he became reserved to the point that people only approached him about work issues. She still had his bed side manner version before her.

Minnie watched him as he sat beside her, her expression softening at the joke even if it only coaxed the smallest flicker of amusement in her tired eyes. She glanced down at her lap, a breath catching in her throat before she cleared it gently and looked back up at him.

“Alright,” she said quietly, her voice more steady now, but still delicate. “You have my consent, Dr. De Luca.”

There was a pause. She smiled faintly, not quite sure what to do with her hands as they fluttered for a moment near her skirt before settling against the side of the booth.

“I appreciate the offer. Really. I know this probably isn’t how you imagined your evening going.” Her eyes dropped to the small bag of ice resting on her swelling foot. “And I’d hate to trouble you just to move me back to my booth. I’ll be fine once it’s wrapped, I can manage. My apartment’s not far. I can sort of… hop back.”

She gave a little shrug, like she was trying to make the whole thing sound light and manageable even as she sat, clearly unable to walk.

Her gaze lifted back to his, and this time, she didn’t look away. “I don’t mean to be difficult. Just… not great at asking for help, I guess.”

She leaned back against the vinyl, suddenly very aware of how quiet the space had become around them. “You’re very kind. I promise I don’t usually fall apart in public places.” Her lips quirked, dry humor laced beneath the worn edges of her voice. “Just on special occasions.”

Geist grinned with relief when she finally consented, and he was allowed to treat her. He wouldn’t have pushed his efforts on her – that is called assault – but he was having a morality battle within his head about just leaving her like this and hoping she got home okay. "I helping people is what I am all about. It’s not trouble. Really.”

He grabbed his phone from his pocket and made a quick call. She would only get to hear one side of the conversation.

"Oh good, you’re there. I was worried you were off shift all ready.” Pause, listening. "No. You’re just the only guy who will help me out without complaining.” Pause. Chuckle. Nodding. "Exactly my point. Anyway, I am at the 59 Diner and I have a run-a-way bride that sprained her ankle, and I have consent to wrap it. Would you mind running down some supplies?” Pause. Listening. Nodding. "Thank you. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and looked at his patient. "Help will be arriving in the next few minutes. I will get you taken care of and on your way.”

He tried to make small talk while they waited for the supplies to arrive. He checked the business card she had given him. "So you are a museum curator? What’s your favorite exhibit?”

It had been a quiet night at the firehouse. Meph was going through his typical routine of making dinner for his co-workers before hitting the gym for a few hours before he showered and went to sleep. He was just laying the table for dinner when his work phone rang. He grabbed it out of his pocket and checked the screen. Dr. Geist De Luca was on the screen. Meph answered it, “Firehouse, Meph speaking.” Listening. “No, I’m here. Should I not be?” Meph was confused. “Ah. So, you want help without the pushback.” Listening. Even more confused. A run-a-way bride? He didn’t know if he was more intrigued or just plain lost. “I’ll grab a split and some wrapping and head out.”

He looked down at the array of food he was not going to be able to eat. He sighed and headed into the rec room and let his fellow firefighters know that dinner was ready. He then headed to the first aide supply room and gathered what he needed. A tall sock. A splint. Bandages to wrap it. For a sprang, this should be efficient. He put all the supplies into a bag and slung it over his shoulder.

He headed away from the firehouse on foot, heading towards the Diner. As he walked, he wondered about Minnie and how she was doing. Things weren’t the greatest between them when they had last parted. He hadn’t been home since, making a point to practically live at the firehouse to avoid the awkwardness of running into her. He had behaved very badly, and he was certain she would never forgive him for walking out and leaving her. Her business card was on his counter in his condo. He had thought about going to get it and calling her, but what would he say? Sorry I’m damaged, and I freaked out for reasons you couldn’t possibly understand.

He arrived at the Diner and walked through the door. His eyes surveyed the room and then found Dr. De Luca sitting at the counter. His eyes then shifted to the person sitting next to him, Minnie. He froze for a heartbeat, his eyes fixed on her, and shame showing on his face. He had a job to do though. He headed over to Dr. De Luca and grabbed the bag from his shoulder. He offered it to the doctor, “The supplies you requested.” Meph’s eyes passed over Minnie as he turned to leave.

Minnie sat quietly in her seat, her eyes fixed on her foot, which now throbbed with an angry, relentless pulse. The swelling had worsened, pushing against the limits of her skin like something caged and furious, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She grimaced, shifting slightly in discomfort, only to freeze when the bell above the diner door gave another jingle.

Her shoulders hunched instinctively. Great. Another customer. Another curious glance at the woman with the Christmas ham of a foot. She didn’t bother looking up.

But then...

Her heart stuttered in her chest, then kicked into a gallop that nearly stole her breath. She looked up without thinking, and there he was.

Meph.

It was like her body remembered him before her brain could catch up. Her eyes drank him in, aching, as though she’d been wandering in a desert for days and he was the only water in sight. And, in a way, he was. She had waited each day, hoping to hear his door open and slam shut, telling herself he just needed time. That he’d cool off. That he’d come home eventually and they could sit and talk, start over.

The night after their conversation, she’d still made dinner like she’d promised. Knocked softly on his door. Waited. No answer. No movement. No signs of life. Just silence. She didn’t want to chase him, didn’t want to push. So she had pinned his card to the fridge door. Had written many text messages and erased them with a shake of her head, and every time she passed by on her way out the door, her eyes lingered on it. Hoping that if she stared at it long enough, he would materialize in front of her and forgive her.

But the museum had needed her. A rare collection of Ancient Greek pottery had been found, of all places, in a parking lot in Manchester close to where her mother lived, and she’d been pulled in to help restore it. Days passed in a blur of paint dust, clay fragments, cataloging, and too many hours on her feet. She’d been sleeping in her office, eating from vending machines, surviving on coffee and adrenaline. She’d only made it home to shower before heading right back.

It showed. The fatigue carved into the gentle slope of her shoulders, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the way her movements had grown smaller, more careful and contained.

When she saw him turn to leave, her heart lurched in panic.

Without thinking, Minnie pushed up from the stool to follow, but the moment she put weight on her injured foot, pain shot up her leg like lightning. She gasped, a pained hiss her escaping as her ankle buckled beneath her. She stumbled back, catching herself on the counter with a harsh grip, her breath hitching and sweat springing cold on her brow. Strands of hair stuck to her temple, her pulse fluttering wildly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the din of the diner with unmistakable clarity. “107…”

She swallowed, her expression soft, open, and just a little bit broken.

“…would you help me walk home after Dr. DeLuca wraps my foot? I would greatly appreciate it. If not…” She didn’t know what else to say.

Meph heard the stumble and turned. Dr. De Luca stood to react, but Minnie had grabbed the counter and steadied herself. He was moving into position when his patient called out to the paramedic to stay. Between the way they looked at each other and her plea, Dr. De Luca knew what to do. He grabbed the bag of medical supplies and passed them to Meph as he headed to leave. "I think you're the support she's looking for." He grinned at his friend and left the diner.

Meph caught the bag and watched his friend leave the restaurant. Meph looked back at Minnie and took a few steps to close the distance between them. He stopped in front of her and offered her his hand to help her sit back down. He stood before her - him looking down at her as she looked up at him. "I'll get you home," he said sincerely, like a knight accepting a quest.

He squatted down in front of her and removed the ice pack to examine her ankle. He aligned her foot with the palm and fingers of his hand. Testing her flexibility. When she let him know she was in pain, he stopped. But that touch of information let him know how to mold the fiberglass splint. He replaced the bag of ice and pulled out the splint. He used his hands to bend the fiberglass so it would be positioned at an angle that was comfortable for her. He checked the back of the splint against her calve and curved the sides in so it would hold her leg snuggly.

He then removed the ice bag. Slipped the gauzy sock on her foot that nearly reached her knee and then lined up the splint under her foot and against the back of her leg. Now came the wrappings. He pulled out the bandages and wrapped her leg like a mummy's. It was snug, supportive, but not tight.

He looked up at Minnie from his squatting position. "How does that feel?"

Minnie sucked in a sharp breath the moment Meph turned her foot slightly to the right. A white-hot jolt of pain surged through her leg, and she winced, her body instinctively trying to pull her foot away from his grasp. Her fingers dug into the edge of the counter as her breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut for a second as she rode the wave of discomfort.

But then he stopped, just like that. No pressure, no insistence. Just understanding.

As he worked, her gaze dropped to his hands, watching the precise, practiced way he molded the fiberglass splint, how sure and steady he was. There was something strangely comforting about the silence between them, filled only by the soft rustle of bandages and the muted clink of the counter. It grounded her.

His focus never faltered. She watched his brow furrow just slightly as he adjusted the curve of the splint to fit the back of her calf, how he smoothed the gauzy sock up her leg with such care it made her throat tighten. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Awkwardness, maybe distance. But not this quiet devotion or this softness.

By the time he was wrapping her ankle, securing the splint with swift, clean motions, she found herself blinking back the sting of something else entirely.

When he finally looked up at her, asking how it felt, she managed a shaky little laugh, touched with pain, but sincere. Her eyes met his, wide and grateful.

“Feels like you’ve saved me again,” she murmured, her voice low and tender, filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Mephistopheles… for being my knight in shining armor.”

He stood from his squatting position. Her foot was stabilized and secured. She would need to take care for a few days but she should mend well. He slipped onto the stool where Dr. De Luca had been sitting before he departed. “Shining armor? No." He said rather matter of factly. “My armor was never shiny. It was usually dull, covered in imperfections from battle, and bloody." She might take it as a joke, but he was telling her the truth.

He changed the subject then, wanting to get away from unpleasantries. "Have you already eaten or would you like to order something before I get you home?"

He could have been, probably should have been shy towards her. But he had been called here for medical purposes and he was trying to be professional with his handling of their interaction. Things had ended so badly between them. She had brought up so many painful, bitter memories that he didn't know what to do but run. He had left her vulnerable and probably scared of what had happened between them.

She had successfully seduced him. They had engaged in a sexual confrontation and then everything started to go wrong. If he had been wiser in the world of relationships he could have navigated them through the rocky part and back together. But he was not wise. He was very very ignorant when it came to matters of the heart

Right now, he could offer his assistance and see that she got home safely.

Minnie lowered her gaze to her lap as he spoke, her fingers gently fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. No shining armor, he said. Just dull, battered, bloodied metal. She wasn’t sure if he meant it literally or figuratively, so she took it figuratively and found she disagreed. Meph had saved her from more than just physical harm. He had pulled her back from the edge on more than one occasion, just by being there… by seeing her when she felt invisible. But she didn’t say any of that. She knew it wouldn’t change things. Not tonight.

Instead, she glanced down at her wrapped foot, the bulk of the splint reaching up her calf, and gave a small shake of her head. “I’m not hungry,” she murmured. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Her voice was quiet just tired. Bone-deep, soul-worn tired.

She exhaled slowly and began to shift forward in her seat. Her good foot found the ground, and she steadied herself with one hand on the counter. Carefully, she reached down and picked up the black heel she’d discarded earlier, curling her fingers around the strap. Then she pushed herself up onto one foot and began to hobble her way toward the booth in the far corner of the diner.

She didn’t ask for help, certain that she could find a bit of stability and strength in this situation.

She simply moved slowly, leaning heavily on the edge of each table as she passed until she reached her things. Her folders, her coat, her bag. With quiet determination, she began to gather them into her arms, one by one.

He watched her, staying in his seat as she grabbed her shoe and hobbled across the diner to the table she had been working at. He lowered his eyes solemnly. The only thing she had to say to him was that she wasn’t hungry. He assumed that was because of his presence in the diner. She obviously loathed him more than he had anticipated. He knew their first meeting would be awkward, that’s why he stayed away – sleeping and showering at the firehouse, living off of take out, staying on the beach when he needed a break from work. He was scared to face her and now he understood why, her rejection of him was painful. But she had asked him to help her home, and he would keep that promise.

He waited for her to gather her items from the table. Once she had them and her shoe in her hands, he made his move. He stood up from his seat and pushed away from the counter with his hand. He had thrown the strap on the bag of medical supplies over his head and slipped one arm through it so it stretches across his broad chest. He made his way over to her and, with the familiarity of a lover, scooped her up in his arms like she was a bride. “I promised to get you home.”

She could protect, she could even slap him, but he wouldn’t put her down. He would toss a twenty on her table and carry out of the diner and down the street to the condos. As he walked, he stared straight forward, a machine with a mission. But his mind was anything but still. His arms remembered her weight and the curve of her body. His chest remembered how it felt to have her against it. He swallowed and, not allowing himself to look at her, breathed out, “I apologize for my absence.”

Minnie barely had time to blink before she was lifted into his arms. Her folders pressed between them awkwardly for a moment before she adjusted, curling them against her chest with one arm as the other instinctively wrapped around his neck. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her cheeks flushing hot with surprise. She had thought maybe, maybe, he’d let her lean on him. A steadying hand, nothing more. But this? This was something she hadn’t expected at all.

Her heart stumbled, then kicked into a faster rhythm, each beat echoing loudly in her ears. She could feel the strength of his arms beneath her, the solid wall of his chest against her side, the heat of him radiating through the cool air of the night. The familiar scent of him; woodsy, clean, something distinctly him wrapped around her like a memory she hadn’t realized she missed until now. It was overwhelming in the gentlest way.

When he spoke his apology, her breath caught. Minnie swallowed thickly, her fingers finding the back of his neck. Her touch was light, tentative at first, then warmer… a small, reassuring caress that she hoped would convey more than words ever could.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hush of their footsteps. “You don’t have to be sorry. I understand why. I don’t fault you for it.”

She let her head rest against his shoulder, her cheek brushing the fabric of his shirt. “But I do want to apologize… for the things I said. For how things turned out between us. I truly never meant to hurt you. I’m not a cruel person, although perhaps now that might be harder to believe now…” Her voice was soft, gentle and kind.

There was a long pause, the weight of unspoken things hanging between them.

“I’d like to have the chance to make things right,” she murmured, barely louder than the breeze. “To redeem myself, if I can. But… if you don’t want me around anymore, if you feel like being around me or a friendship with me will be too difficult or painful to uphold, I’ll understand that too.”