Wade pov
The machine isn't complicated.
I know that the moment I open it up, the internal structure mapping itself out in my head like it always does. Pressure imbalance, minor blockage, something that hasn't been cleaned properly. It's simple once you understand how the pieces fit together.
My hands move easily, steady and precise, taking it apart without hesitation.
But my focus isn't on the machine.
Not completely.
It's on her.
I'm aware of her without looking, the quiet shift of her movement behind me, the way she adjusts her path through the space like she's trying not to get too close. Like she's conscious of where I am at all times, even when she's pretending not to be.
I take another piece apart, setting it down carefully, listening to the soft rhythm of her moving around me.
She steps closer reaching for something beside me. She's too close to ignore, yet not close enough to touch.
I move slightly, stepping back at the same moment she shifts forward, and my leg brushes her hip.
It's light, barely anything.
But the feel of her body against mine sends sparks flying through my mind. And I feel her reaction even more.
That small, sharp intake of breath she tries to hide.
I keep my eyes on the machine.
Like I didn't notice.
Like I'm not already thinking about it again.
It takes me less than ten minutes to fix it.
Flush the line. Clean the filter. Reset the pressure.
Simple.
Predictable.
I straighten, wiping my hands slowly before glancing at her.
"It should be fine now."
She looks at me, something impressed flickering across her face before she reins it in.
"That was… fast."
I shrug slightly. "It wasn't a big problem."
She huffs out a small laugh, shaking her head as she reaches for a cup.
"It felt like a big problem to me."
"That's because you don't know what you're looking at."
The words come out easier than they should, casual, comfortable in a way I didn't expect.
And then— all the air in my lungs turn to lead.
The light catches it faintly as she reaches for a cup.
A simple gold ring on her left hand.
My stomach drops and a sudden wave of nausea threatens to take me to my knees
She's married.
The realisation hits heavier than a ton of bricks. Of course she would be married. Any man would be lucky to have her.
Because it shouldn't matter.
I don't know her. She doesn't know me.
This wasn't supposed to be anything more than a simple night out. But no, I had for go full on Sherlock Holmes and find her.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
I look away, dragging a hand over the back of my neck, forcing my expression back into something neutral before she can notice the shift.
I'm so fucking stupid. This was never going to work out and she tried to warn me. But would I listen. No, Of course not.
I'm too stubborn for my own good.
I look at her now, she's smiling talking to a customer and I'm just standing here, taking up borrowed space.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, my heart aches instantly.
God help me this woman will be the death of me. But she has a life. A husband. Children. A whole world I don't belong in.
And just like that—
I know how this ends.
It doesn't go anywhere.
It can't.
Why would she ever pick me over all of that.
"Do you still want that coffee?" She says sweetly, stepping up to the machine right now to me, her arm brushing mine gently.
I want you, I almost say, but it gets stuck in my throat.
I cough, trying to clear my thoughts.
"Yeah. Yes, please."
I should go. I should walk out of here and never look back. But how could I possibly when she's looking at me like I just hung the stars.
"Anything else that needs fixing?" I hear myself ask.
She looks at me like she wasn't expecting that. There's a pause, then a small, almost dismissive laugh as she gestures vaguely behind her.
"No… well—" she hesitates, already shaking her head. "Unless you want to look at the back door, but no, you don't have to do that.
I tilt my head slightly. If it keeps me in her space a little longer I'd happily mop the floor.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It just… sticks," she says, shrugging. "The hinge is off or something. It doesn't open properly, so we have to walk all the way around to take the trash out."
I nod once.
"I'll fix it."
She blinks, surprised.
"You really don't have to—"
"I don't mind."
It's completely the truth. Because even though I'm missing all of my morning classes to be here, I'm not sad. My mind doesn't linger on my mother's grave. On her cold hands or her last words.
I feel...needed, almost wanted. And I would much rather be here with Lizzy than doing another revision class.
The door takes longer than the machine, but not by much.
A loose hinge. Slight misalignment.
Still and easy fix.
I fix it quickly, testing it a few times until it moves cleanly again.
Done.
I can't help but wonder why this husband of hers hasn't fixed the door.
I notice the full trash can standing in the corner. I knot the bag and take it.
Because it gives me a reason to stay just a little longer.
Because I'm not ready to walk away yet.
I'm halfway out when she appears behind me.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.
I lift the bag slightly.
"Taking the trash out."
"You don't have to do that."
I shrug.
"It was full."
She watches me for a second, something shifting in her expression.
Something softer.
Something that shouldn't matter as much as it does.
"Wow," she says, laughing lightly. "If you're not cafefulI I'm going to have you in an apron, and start bossing you around next."
I glance at her and can't help but smile at the thought of her trying to boss me around.
"I wouldn't mind."
The words slip out before I can filter them. Because honestly, I wouldn't mind. I'd happily work here if it meant I got to see her every day.
Her smile falters for a second before she laughs again, shaking her head.
"What is happening right now?" she murmurs, more to herself than to me
I don't answer. Because I already know.
What's happening is that she's being helped without having to ask. And I would do a million little things she needs just to keep that smile on her face.