Chapter 2
Chapter Two
"So what’s going on?” Emily questioned, breezy and bright.
“I’m having problems with the espresso machine,” Mark admitted sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. In all honesty, he was losing the battle every time he touched the machine, but he didn’t want her to know how bad it really was.
“Yeah,” she nodded, “They can be difficult sometimes. It’s really more temperamental than broken, is my best guess. But you can’t let it see you sweat. That’s how it wins.”
“Feels like it’s winning,” Mark grumbled as they moved over to the machine behind the counter.
“Not if I can help it,” Emily said, cracking her knuckles for effect.
Just like that, she was on it, her sleeves rolled, her hands quick and sure. And all he could do was watch in amazement. Within mere seconds, she had the espresso machine doing its best impression of a pressure cooker, steam and all. She stood behind it, flipping switches, hitting buttons, and dumping shots into cups with practiced ease. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how effortlessly she worked in what seemed like chaos to him.
“You’re really good at this,” he praised. “I can see why they sent you to train my baristas.”
“And you,” she corrected. “As the owner, you should know how everything works in your coffee shop.”
He nodded. “That makes sense. Lead by example.”
“That’s right,” she told him. “First responders always get that part of it best.”
Emily talked him through each move like she was reciting a favorite recipe, words mixing with the whirl and hum that filled the room.
“This part right here,” she pointed out, making sure he caught every word, “is where you want to give it a little nudge.”
Mark nodded, squinting like he was trying to see the machine’s soul. He listened intently, tucking away her tips for when she’d leave and he’d be alone with the beast again. “You make it sound so simple.”
Emily gave him a grin. “That’s because it is, at least after you’ve been doing it as long as I have.”
“I think you scared the machine into behaving,” Mark said, watching the espresso flow smooth and dark.
“That’s because it knows who’s boss,” she teased with a mischievous grin that matched the sly arc of her brow. She handed over a cup of coffee for him to sample.
Mark took the cup, savoring the rich hazelnut aroma before taking a sip. The coffee was perfect—rich, bold, with a silky finish. He looked at Emily with newfound respect. “I suppose I have a lot to learn from you then.”
Emily leaned against the counter with a playful grin. “You won’t be a rookie for long. Give it a week, and you’ll be pulling shots like a pro. ”
“That’s reassuring,” Mark replied, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude and a hint of amusement. “I’m used to jumping into deep waters, but this is a whole different kind of challenge.”
“Well, coffee’s deep in its own way,” Emily quipped. “Just less literal swimming required.” She paused for a moment, then added thoughtfully, “Though I guess in both cases, it’s about keeping your head above water.”
Mark chuckled softly at the comparison, an amused sound that seemed to fill the cozy shop. As he took another sip of his steaming coffee, the tight coil of tension that came with entrepreneurship unraveled ever so slightly. The warmth of the mug seeped into his hands, adding to the sense of relaxation. Emily’s presence, like a gentle balm, brought an unexpected comfort, her personable demeanor and reassuring smile creating a peaceful oasis in the midst of his hectic new life.
Emily backed away from the machine, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked at him like maybe she’d say something more, but she closed her mouth and brushed a stray strand of her black hair behind her ear instead.
“You know,” he said, his voice steady but sincere with gratitude, “I’m really glad you’re here to help. Joe told me great things about your work back in Hero, and I have no doubt you’ll do just as good here with us.”
She flashed him a grin. “Thank you, Mark. I’m excited to be a part of this team and help make a difference in Faith Valley.”
She set to work, organizing the training area and gathering materials for the next day’s session. As she moved around the shop, he couldn’t help but reflect on his first impressions of Emily. Her passion for helping heroes start anew struck a chord within him, and he admired her dedication .
As she prepared the last stack of handouts for the baristas, Mark stood there, trying to process the weird knot in his gut. Her presence filled the room, whether she was standing right beside him or not. Mark found himself more focused on Emily than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t sure if it made things easier or more complicated.
Emily slipped her leather jacket back on and tossed her bag over her shoulder. “Well, that does it for today. I’ll see you in the morning to get ready for the afternoon training.”
“Sure,” he said with a nod. “See you then.”
“Maybe,” she teased, with a final salute with her keys before heading out the door.
He caught sight of Emily through the window, his interest piqued despite himself. She strolled across the parking lot, each step casual and full of confidence, then stopped by a motorcycle, its chrome glinting in the late afternoon sun.
Mark leaned against the counter, unable to tear his eyes away as she flicked back her hair—a motion so fluid it almost looked rehearsed—right before she placed her helmet on her head and swung her leg over the seat. The motorcycle revved to life, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by how at home she looked, both on the bike and in his coffee shop. It was a dangerous combination, one that he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with.
Emily sped off, leaving a trail of dust and intrigue in her wake, adding a sense of mystery to her abrupt departure. The shop, once filled with her vibrant energy, now felt eerily silent, the only sound being the faint hum of the overhead lights. Mark stood there, exhaling a long-held breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as if he had been waiting for a storm to pass.
Mark tried to focus on the invoices scattered across the counter. It was like trying to ignore a firecracker going off in a trash can. Emily was hard to miss. He had half a mind to chase her down and ask her to go to dinner with him. That left him with half a mind to spare, which was about all he could afford with the mountain of paperwork in front of him.
Mark shifted his gaze, trying to concentrate. The coffee shop needed him all in, not distracted and definitely not tangled up in thoughts about a certain brunette. Her “maybe” was stuck in his head like a catchy tune. He found himself wondering what it would sound like to have her say “yes” to him if he asked her out on a date. Emily was trouble wrapped in a shiny package, and he knew it was best if he kept their relationship professional.
With a reluctant sigh, Mark tried to lose himself in the work that was piling up. It was safer and cleaner. But as he picked up a pen, he knew that the rest of his evening was going to be a battle between numbers on a page and the vivid memory of Emily’s laughter echoing through the shop.
After fighting himself for an hour, he decided it was best to clean up and focus on something else. His truck rumbled to life under his steady hands. It was a short drive to the lake, a ritual he’d clung to like a lifeline. Mark parked by the water, climbed out of his vehicle and made his way over to the water that stretched out before him. It was a calm contrast to the chaos he was feeling inside.
Stripping off his shirt, Mark felt the chill of the night air, a prelude to the shock he craved. He needed this, the simplicity, the control.
His dive was a clean arc, a muscle memory from days when his life was nothing but water and speed. The cold hit him like a wall, and Mark welcomed it. It pushed everything else aside, even the thoughts he didn’t want but couldn’t stop.
He surfaced, took a breath, and settled into a rhythm. Each stroke was measured and precise, matching the deliberation of his thoughts. Emily. The shop. The life he was building and the parts he left behind.
Mark knew he was attracted to her. How could he not be? But the feeling tangled up with so much else. Emily was light and laughter, a free spirit that contrasted with his rooted, grounded nature. She wasn’t something he had planned for, and that terrified him.
His strokes cut through the water, but his thoughts weren’t so easily parted. Emily kept gnawing at the edges of his thought, unrelenting.
Mark kept swimming, trying to lose himself in the motion, in the clarity he’d always found in the water. But her image persisted. Every lap brought him back to the same questions, to the same pull that left him more unsettled than any swift water rescue ever did.
Mark slowed his pace, feeling the welcome burn in his muscles. He floated on his back, eyes on the stars, the water’s cool embrace unable to drown out his confusion. It was too much like his old life—one moment, everything was calm, and the next, he was in danger of being swept away.
He made his way to the shore, the tension between duty and desire still twisting inside him. The night closed in, wrapping him in uncertainty and the stark, undeniable truth that something had shifted with Emily’s arrival, and he was afraid he wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.
Mark pulled himself from the water, droplets glistening like stars on his skin. He toweled off and took a long, hard look at the lake, trying to absorb the peace it usually gave him. But tonight, it seemed Emily had stolen some of that peace, replacing it with a restless energy he couldn’t shake off. He climbed back into his truck, the steering wheel cold under his hands, mirroring the chill in his bones.
As he navigated the winding roads back to his home, the streets of Faith Valley were deserted. The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, adding to the eerie stillness of the evening. Mark parked his car and lingered for a moment, contemplating the unexpected twists and turns his life had taken.
Inside his house, the silence was overwhelming. The small apartment felt even smaller tonight—like it couldn’t contain the conflict inside him. Mark flicked on the lights and made his way into the kitchen. He pulled out some old Chinese food and ate standing up. Every bite tasted like nothing.
He let the remnants of dinner sit abandoned on the counter as he moved mechanically through his nightly routine, each task tainted with thoughts of Emily. His nightly shower, which always helped clear his head, didn’t work as planned. The hot water cascaded over him, soothing yet doing little to wash away the growing confusion about Emily. He wrapped a towel around his torso and then pulled out his toothbrush.
As he brushed his teeth, he caught his reflection in the mirror—tired eyes staring back at him. “You’re looking old, Officer,” he chastised himself. “You need to figure out a way to let this go before she gets the best of you.”
He threw his toothbrush in a drawer and slammed it shut with frustration. He slipped on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt before moving into the corner of his living room where his favorite chair awaited. The leather was cracked but welcoming and familiar, and he hoped it would be enough to settle him.
He reached for the old photo album beside him on the table, the cover warm under his hands. Mark let it fall open, the pages a timeline of everything he’d been once and would never be again.
The pictures were worn and creased; edges bent from countless revisits. Faces of his brothers in arms and in the water stared back at him. Their smiles were wide and reckless, back when the risk felt like an old friend and not the adversary it became.
He traced the images with calloused fingertips, letting them pull him into memories he cherished but also resented. Each one told a story, a victory or loss, all tied to the life he thought he would live forever until one fateful rescue stole that life away. One bum leg later, he was forced to medically retire. His hand went instinctively to the scar on his leg. He flinched, not from the injury itself but from the emotional toll it took on him. He ran his fingers over it, the ridged skin more familiar than comforting. It spoke to him, a constant voice whispering of vulnerability, pain, and all the things that could go wrong if he let them.
And then he thought of Emily—her image intruding like an uninvited guest at a funeral—but instead of sorrow, it brought something else. It tangled with the other images, refusing to be just a face among faces. Mark felt the confusion creep back in, as stubborn and undeniable as the scar on his leg.
He set the album aside, but Emily’s face remained. It mingled with his memories, with the old battles and the fear of new obstacles. Mark leaned back, closing his eyes in an effort to block her out, but it didn’t work. His old life demanded one kind of courage, but this—this was different. It was the fear of losing something before he even had it, of opening himself up to the unknown and getting hurt all over again. That wasn’t something he was interested in.
Yet, as the night deepened and the silence in his apartment grew louder, Mark knew that avoiding Emily wasn’t possible. He was just going to have to keep it strictly professional and ignore the attraction he felt for her.
With a sigh, Mark stood up and moved toward his bedroom. “I’m just tired,” he tried to tell himself as he climbed into bed and slipped the covers up to his neck. But deep down, he knew it was more than just physical exhaustion.
He sent up a silent prayer and turned out the lights. Try as he might, though, sleep was elusive. He lay staring at his ceiling fan circling slowly above him. The image of Emily’s smile—the one she wore so effortlessly and which seemed to challenge him—took center stage in his mind again. Emily’s laughter echoed faintly in his mind, tempting him to give in to the attraction he wanted to deny.
“You’re getting too caught up,” he muttered to himself with frustration. His own rules were clear: keep things professional; nothing romantic, no matter what. But there was something about Emily’s fun-loving and quirky demeanor that challenged those rules. She was like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve but couldn’t stop thinking about. He wasn’t ready to dive in, but he wasn’t walking away either. Not yet.