CHAPTER 10
The bell above the café door chimed softly as Randi stepped inside.
The warmth hit her first—coffee, baked bread, something sweet lingering in the air. It felt… normal. Comforting in a way she hadn’t realized that she missed and seemed like it was forever.
She paused just inside the doorway, taking it in.
People talking. Laughter. The quiet hum of everyday life moving forward without effort. For a moment, she simply stood there, then moved toward the line.
It had taken her nearly twenty minutes to talk herself into coming. A simple coffee shouldn’t have felt like a victory.
But it did. Everything did now. She didn’t expect that transitioning her left hand into performing the role as her primary would prove so difficult. Yes, she could grip and grasp, hold and carry things.
But writing, dressing, cracking an egg, tying her shoes, stirring a pot, using a fork and knife together, washing her hair, carrying her laundry basket, and folding her clothes - those tasks and more made life impossible.
Looking at her easels, oils and utensils pained her heart and a daily reminder of what she could no longer accomplish.
She shook her head, casting the thought from her mind and kept her gaze forward, focusing on small things — the menu board, the rhythm of orders being called, the ease with which people reached, carried, lived without thinking. Without any effort.
Her turn came.
“One medium coffee,” she said, her voice steady. “And… a blueberry muffin.”
She paid, stepped aside, and waited.
Behind her, the door chimed again.
Brew stepped inside, his attention already pulled to the phone in his hand as he scrolled through a list of messages. His expression was focused, distant—caught between work and the rare moment he had allowed himself to step away from.
He mindlessly moved into line without looking up absorbed in his messages.
The barista called Randi’s order.
She stepped forward, carefully taking the bag with her muffin inside and placing it in her oversize bag slung over her right shoulder. Then she picked up her cup with her left hand. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked.
That mattered.
She turned.
And walked straight into the moment neither of them was prepared for.
Brew looked up at the sound of her name being called and their eyes met.
He froze.
Randi stopped just short of passing him.
For a second, neither of them spoke. Didn’t move. Didn’t seem to know how.
Her heart lurched at the sight of him. Gorgeous as ever. Muscles bulging through a tight white tee.
Holy crap!
It was a casual side she never saw on him before and he looked enticingly desirable. She gulped her amazement.
His muscles were sculpted and clearly defined under a shirt that fit like a skin.
She gulped, slowly raising her eyes.
“Hi,” she said first.
Simple.
Careful.
Too careful.
His expression shifted almost immediately - surprise giving way to something warmer, something that reached his eyes in a way it hadn’t been allowed to in weeks.
“Hi there,” he returned.
Another pause.
The world continued around them—orders called, cups set down, voices overlapping but for a moment, none of it seemed to reach them.
“You look… good,” he said, and then seemed to reconsider the wording. “Better.”
She offered a small smile.
“I’ll take that.”
He glanced briefly at her hand, then back to her face, keeping his reaction measured, controlled.
“How’s therapy going? Fire Trinity yet?”
“Painful,” she said. “She keeps reminding me that means it’s working.”
A faint hint of a smile touched his mouth.
“It truly does. I promise.”
She shifted her shoulder bag slightly, suddenly aware of the awkwardness settling in.
“Well… I should—”
She gestured vaguely toward the door.
He nodded.
“Of course. It’s great to see you out and about, and I’ll see you at your final checkup.”
This was what happened now. Brief encounters. Polite exchanges. Then, separation. Again.
“Take care,” she replied and stepped past him.
One step. Two. And something in his chest tightened sharply. Too fast. Too final.
He turned and watched her, hating the distance growing between them as she reached for the door, balancing the coffee carefully, her movements still measured, still adapting. Still fighting.
And the thought of letting her walk out of his life like that again, hit harder than he expected, and he called out her name.
“Randi.”
The sound of his voice calling her name sent a chill running through her.
Yes, she whispered silently, stopped, and turned.
He was already moving, stepping out of line without a second thought, ignoring the quiet protest behind him.
“I was going to grab something to eat,” he said, closing the distance between them. “Would you—”
He stopped himself just short of saying it wrong.
“Would you like to join me?”
There it was, not a medical question. Not a professional one. Something else.
Randi blinked, caught off guard.
Then she let out a soft, incredulous laugh, lifting her hand slightly.
“Dangerous utensil in this hand… in public?” she said lightly. “Not a good idea, Doc.”
The word hung there. Doc. A reminder. A boundary.
He didn’t back away from it.
“There’s a sandwich place down the street,” he said. “No knives required.”
Her smile lingered, but her gaze shifted, something more cautious settling in.
“You’re still my doctor,” she said. “And I’m still your patient.”
There it was. Like a line being drawn in the sand. Clear. Defined.
He met her gaze, steady.
“You can always fire me. And besides, next week is your final checkup,” he said. “After that…”
He let the rest sit between them and then, added, quieter—
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
A flicker of something passed through her expression.
Temptation.
Uncertainty.
Fear.
All of it tangled together. She looked down briefly, then back up at him.
“You’re really not supposed to be doing this,” she said.
“Probably not.”
“And you’re still doing it anyway.”
“Yep.”
No hesitation. No apology. Just charming truth. And something about that—about him—made it harder to hold her ground.
She exhaled slowly, the resistance in her shoulders easing just enough.
She wanted to give in.
Should I? God help me, guide me, something.
Randi reached for her coffee again, her fingers brushing the cup before settling around it.
“Just lunch,” she said again, softer this time.
He nodded.
“Just lunch. Nothing complicated.”
But neither of them believed it anymore.
Relief flickered across his face, subtle but unmistakable.
“Just lunch,” he agreed.
She studied him for one more second, as if weighing something she wasn’t ready to name.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
And just like that—
The distance between them shifted. It wasn’t gone. Wasn’t resolved but no longer remained untouchable. The odds looked good in their favor.
As they stepped out into the daylight together, neither of them said it out loud. Both of them felt it. This wasn’t just coincidence. And it wasn’t something either of them could pretend didn’t matter.
Not anymore. Fate was on their side.
They walked side by side down the block and neither of them were quite sure how to settle into the space between them.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t easy either.
Cars passed. A breeze moved lightly through the early afternoon air. The world carried on around them, ordinary and unaware, while something far less ordinary unfolded in the quiet between their steps.
Randi adjusted her grip on the coffee, her movements still measured, still careful.
“You do this often?” she asked after a moment.
“Skip out of line and follow women onto the street?” Brew replied.
A hint of amusement touched her lips. His humor was contagious.
“That depends. Is that what you just did?”
He glanced at her, something warmer in his expression now.
“No. I think I made a decision on the spot.”
She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then looked ahead again.
“Those can be dangerous, you know – that kind of spontaneity,” she said.
“I’m starting to realize that.”
The sandwich shop came into view just ahead—small, unassuming, with wide front windows and a handwritten menu taped inside the glass.
“Here?” she asked.
“It’s quiet,” he said. “And forgiving.”
She gave a small nod.
“That sounds promising.”
Inside, the shop was calm, the lunch rush was already thinning. A few tables were occupied, but there was space and room to sit without feeling watched.
They ordered simply.
Turkey. Soup. Nothing that required effort.
Nothing that required explanation.
When they sat, the table between them felt both too small and too large at the same time.
Randi set her coffee down carefully, her gaze drifting briefly to her hand before she pulled it back toward her.
Brew noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
“So,” she said, breaking the quiet, “this is where we pretend this is normal?”
He leaned back slightly, considering that.
“I don’t think either of us is very good at pretending, do you?”
“That’s fair.”
A pause settled between them again, lighter this time. Less guarded. Still uncertain.
They were both treading lightly, feeling each other, carefully moving toward a conclusion they both wanted but afraid to admit.
“How’s it being back home?” he asked.
The question was simple.
The answer wasn’t.
Randi let out a slow breath.
“Wayyy harder than I thought it would be, especially when there’s no one around to help with the zippers.”
He couldn’t hold back and smiled devilishly.
“My specialty.”
She reached out and playfully slapped his hand.
“Pretty cheeky there, Doc.”
“Sorry. My playful side rears itself when freed from the confines of the hospital.”
“Forgiven,” she smiled, “I like that side of you.” She realized the honesty of those words and tried to compensate. “I’m sure you know. everything takes me longer,” she continued. “Simple things. Things I never had to think about before.”
Her gaze dropped briefly to the table.
“I broke a mug this morning,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
Brew’s expression softened.
“Casualty of war?”
She let out a quiet laugh.
“One of many. I’ve lost count. This could get costly. ”
“But you’re still trying.”
It wasn’t a question.
She looked back up at him.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Something in her voice made him believe it completely.
Their food arrived.
Randi studied it for a second—calculating, adjusting—before reaching for it.
Brew watched the moment carefully, aware of how easily it could shift into something she didn’t want – something embarrassing. It was a big step for her to accept his invitation and chance to make a fool out of herself. He wouldn’t think of her in that way - never.
She picked up the sandwich with her left hand, steady but not entirely comfortable, adjusting her grip until it worked. It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough.
He wanted so much to say so but didn’t want to embarrass her, acknowledging her effort at working her fingers. It was a great sign.
She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Then, she gazed at him.
“Well,” she said, “no flying chicken this time.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“I’m relieved.”
“That makes both of us.”
The humor lingered, easing something that had been tight between them.
“You’ve been on my mind,” he said before he could stop himself.
The words settled between them. Immediate and unavoidable. It was something his heart told him needed to be shared.
Randi stilled slightly, not pulling away or moving closer either. It was precautionary. Something she did often in situations like this. It was a measure of pause.
“That’s not something you’re supposed to say to a former patient,” she replied softly.
“Probably not.”
“And yet…”
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Just… full.
She leaned back slightly, studying him.
“You don’t seem like someone who does things he’s not supposed to do.”
“I don’t.”
“And this?”
He held her gaze.
“This is different.”
The honesty in it caught her off guard, again.
Randi looked down at her hand, then back at him.
“You don’t know what you’re stepping into,” she said quietly.
“I know enough.”
“No,” she shook her head slightly, “you know what you saw in the hospital. That’s not the same thing ... or the same person.”
“Then show me the difference.”
The words were simple.
But they landed with weight.
She exhaled slowly, something in her defenses shifting—not falling, not gone, but… moving.
“You’re persistent,” she said.
“I’ve been told that.”
“By patients?”
“By people who didn’t want me to give up.”
A flicker of something deeper passed between them.
Was it understanding, recognition, or a little bit of both. This man was making her head spin. She wanted to give in.
Should I? God help me, guide me, something.
Randi reached for her coffee again, her fingers brushing the cup before settling around it.
“Just lunch,” she said again, softer this time.
He nodded.
“Just lunch.”
But neither of them believed it anymore.
Outside, the afternoon moved forward, steady and unchanged.
Inside, something quieter and far more complicated was beginning to take shape. It wasn’t rushed or forced. But it certainly was undeniable.
Their conversation through lunch remained easy, playful, and comfortable in a way neither of them had expected.
Time slipped by unnoticed, carried on quiet laughter, shared observations, and the kind of effortless exchange that didn’t need careful thought or guarded responses.
At one point, Brew leaned back slightly, studying her with a quiet curiosity.
“It feels like I’ve known you a lot longer than a few weeks,” he said.
The words were simple and settled deep.
Randi held his gaze, something warm and unfamiliar moving through her chest.
A soft, almost disbelieving smile touched her lips.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “It does.”
And for a moment, she let herself sit in it. She didn’t question or ignore it or lift a guarded question like she always did with people trying to get close. She just let it fill her. Was it blissful? Yes. Was it dangerous? Heck yeah. Did it feel real? More than she wanted it to.
What is happening between us?
The thought came uninvited.
Closeness.
The question lingered longer than she expected.
By the time they realized how long they had been sitting there, the afternoon had already begun to shift.
Randi glanced toward the window, surprised.
“I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Neither did I,” Brew admitted.
And there was something in his tone that said he didn’t mind.
Not at all.
Outside, the air had warmed just enough to carry the quiet promise of spring sticking around and not teasing them.
They stepped onto the sidewalk together, neither quite ready to acknowledge that the day was coming to an end.
“I can walk you,” he said. “Or drive you, if you’d rather.”
Randi considered it for a moment, then shook her head lightly.
“It’s a nice day,” she said. “The walk will do me good.”
A small pause.
“I’ll see you next week,” she added.
There it was. Another reminder. The boundary was still there, still real.
He just nodded, as though something in him resisted the simplicity of what would end.
“Well,” he said, his tone shifting just slightly, something warmer slipping through, “try not to break anything on the way home.”
She smiled, the ease returning just enough.
“No promises.”
They stood there a moment longer than necessary.
Neither moving or quite willing to be the one to end it.
“Take care of yourself, Randi,” he said finally.
“You too… Brew.”
The use of his name—without title, without distance—landed quietly between them.
A shift.
A step.
Then she turned, beginning her walk down the sidewalk, her pace steady, deliberate.
He watched her go. Longer than he should have. Longer than he meant to. And when she didn’t look back, he still didn’t move.
Because whatever this was becoming … it wasn’t something either of them could walk away from easily.