Beckett stopped walking and looked at me as though I had grown a second head. “You’ve got quite the chip on your shoulder. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” I admitted, shrugging.

“Look, I’ll be honest, that day I helped you during your panic attack really got to me. I don’t make a habit of worrying about complete strangers but I worried about you.” And there it was again. The fluttering. The nausea. Why did he always make me feel like upchucking?

He stopped just outside the coffee shop, turning to face me. “Maybe it was the fact that I could relate. That I’d been there. I wanted to know you were okay.”

His blue, blue eyes met mine again and I froze. Then I thawed.

Then I sort of melted into a giant puddle of Corin Thompson dribbling on the ground.

“But that’s not why I’m asking you to come drink a hot beverage of your choice with me.” Beckett ran his hand over his messy brown curls. “I guess I just like talking to you. Like maybe you get it.” He tapped his finger over his chest where I knew he had the cardioverter implanted. “About this. Because you’re dealing with your own stuff and maybe mine isn’t such a big deal.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “But if I’m weirding you out, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I just don’t believe in missing out on opportunities anymore.”

“Opportunities?” I asked, not understanding.

He flushed a little, almost like he was embarrassed, and it was endearing.

Because Lynn was so, so wrong. I totally swooned over Beckett.

I was charmed.

“To make a really great friend,” Beckett answered, giving me that sweet, confident smile that he flashed indiscriminately.

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” I said. And I meant it. For whatever reason this man wanted to be around me.

It felt nice.

So I walked into the coffee shop beside him.

And it was natural.

Like a heartbeat.

Like a butterfly’s wings.

Like normal.

Chapter 7

Corin

“Whatcha havin’?” Beckett asked once we approached the counter. I looked up at the menu with way too many options, the words blurring in front of my eyes.

What the hell was a frap? A macchiato? Americano, grande, chai. It was gibberish.

I didn’t drink coffee. And I sure as hell didn’t frequent coffee shops. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Did I want anything? Crap. I was pretty sure I hated all coffee. Even the horrible chocolate-flavored stuff. Why had I agreed to come to a freaking coffee shop when I hated coffee? Was it too late to make an excuse and go home? I was really tired. I just wanted to lie in bed and watch reruns of Judge Judy. Maybe I could fake a fever. Or start dry heaving. Would that be too gross?

“Corin, there’s smoke coming out of your ears. It’s just a drink. I’m not asking you to devise a plan for world peace,” Beckett teased, and I glared at him.

“I like to take my time,” I retorted.

“Um. I’ll have a…uh…latte?” I posed the statement more as a question. As if the bored-looking barista would confirm that I did indeed want a latte.

Wait. I hated lattes. I had felt pressured and put on the spot, so I ordered the one thing on the menu that would definitely make me want to vomit. Just great. I had ordered a five-dollar cup of coffee that I wouldn’t drink. Awesome, Corin. Way to be cool.

I was such a dumbass.

The barista punched in my order while she chomped on her gum that looked ready to fall out of her mouth. I stared at her in disgust that she completely ignored.

“And I’ll have a hot green tea and honey,” Beckett ordered, pulling out his wallet.

“Want anything else?” the girl with worse people skills than me asked.

“Want any cake? A muffin? Some cookies? How about a panini?” Beckett rattled off.

“Uh, no, I’m fine,” I replied.

“Oh, right. Diabetes,” Beckett said seriously, and I felt mortified that he chose to bring up my brain-to-mouth malfunction from when we had first met. I needed to learn to not be embarrassed by the dumb stuff that I did and said. Because as it was, I spent most of the time wishing I could crawl under a very big, very heavy rock.

“Here, let me give you some money—” I started to say, rooting around my purse for some cash.

Beckett put his hand on top of mine and I stiffened instantly. And then I relaxed. Leaned in. Damn it! He made me feel strange. Odd. Uncomfortable. Pleased.

Twisted into knots.

Get it together, Corin!

“It’s on me. I invited you, remember?” Beckett dropped his hand and I took a step back. I needed some distance even if every fiber of my being argued that distance was the last thing I wanted.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, gripping my hands together and feeling awkward. A few minutes later Beckett handed me my unwanted coffee and motioned for me to find a seat. I chose one close to the door. Not a booth. That would be too intimate. I needed a table with chairs on either side of me and a napkin dispenser and salt and pepper shakers between us as a barrier.

After we were seated, Beckett scooped the tea bag out of his cup and dropped it on the saucer, stirring the liquid until it started to slosh over the edge.

“I didn’t take you for a green tea kind of guy,” I observed, picking up my mug of coffee and bringing it to my lips. I took a small sip and tried not to shudder.

Beckett shrugged, still stirring his tea. “I can’t have a lot of caffeine. It reacts with the medications. Plus, as I’m sure you know, it makes your heart beat faster, which for a guy who suffered from cardiac arrest four months ago, isn’t a good thing. Green tea has some caffeine but not nearly as much as a cup of coffee.” He sounded so blasé. So bland. So unaffected.

Unconcerned.

But I could tell that was all a lie.

“Right. Of course,” I fumbled.

Beckett took a drink and made a face. “I miss coffee though. A lot.”

And there it was. The sadness.

I remembered the way he had looked that day in the park as he watched his friends play soccer. It was mirrored now on his face.

Bitterness. A touch of anger.

Regret.

It was a momentary slip in his happy-go-lucky façade that bled through before he could stop it.

A moment of truth I could tell he didn’t want anyone to see.

But I saw it.

And I felt lucky he had shown it to me.

Then it was gone and the smile was back in full force.

I picked up my spoon and absently swirled the unpalatable liquid in my cup, trying to think of something to say.

“I hate coffee,” I announced a little too loudly.

Beckett frowned. “Then why did you order it?”

“Because I was nervous and I say dumb stuff when I’m nervous.” I didn’t know how to choke back my honesty. It came out unbidden, whether I wanted it to or not.

At least I hadn’t told him about my bra that was a size too small and currently digging into my ribs.

Beckett was doing the staring thing again and I had to look away. There was something about his gaze that was just too much.

“You don’t need to feel nervous. Especially around me,” he said softly.

“Don’t get up on yourself. Everything makes me nervous. Car insurance commercials make me break out into a sweat,” I responded breezily.

Beckett laughed. “What about grocery stores? I get the heebie-jeebies when I have to go.”

I made a show of shuddering. “Yeah, I’m a wreck venturing down the produce aisle.”