Espresso In The Morning. Dorie Graham

He moved past the older man. “Here, I can grab them faster than I can tell you where they are.”

      A few moments later, as Lucas headed toward the front, box in hand, Ken spoke up. “I can take those. You’ve got better things to do, boss.”

      “I’ve got it.” Lucas nodded toward the counter. “You’ve got customers.”

      As Ken hurried away, Lucas smiled at the kid trailing behind the petite brunette who stopped in every morning. She and her son shared the same wide brown eyes. Double-shot Americano, two pumps of vanilla, room for cream and the kid always had a banana-strawberry smoothie.

      “Hey, mister,” the kid whispered and motioned Lucas over, while he glanced nervously at his mother, who was placing their order at the other end of the counter.

      Lucas was curious as he set down the carton of sleeves and turned toward the boy. Curious, and a little cautious. Kids weren’t his thing. “Can I help you, little man?”

      The boy scrunched his face. “I hate when my mom calls me that.”

      Lucas shrugged. “Okay, how about just young man?”

      “Grey,” the kid said. “That’s my name. You can call me that.”

      “Grey it is. I’m Lucas. What can I get for you? Your usual smoothie?”

      “How much is that?” The kid pointed to a wall display of espresso machines. “The one on the right. In the green box.”

      “Ah, good choice.” Lucas reached for the machine.

      “Don’t. She’ll see.” The youngster glanced again at his mother, who’d moved along to the pickup area.

      She stood with her arms tightly crossed, her gaze darting over her shoulder at intervals. Ken dropped a metal filter and she jumped, hands splayed, eyes wide. Lucas had seen that look and that reaction before—in Iraq and Afghanistan, and later with Toby. He hoped this woman wasn’t like Toby, harboring some horrible trauma.

      “It’s a surprise.” The boy drew Lucas’s attention back to the espresso machine.

      “You want to get that for your mom?”

      “Maybe if we have one at home, we won’t have to rush out every morning. Not that we don’t enjoy frequenting your shop...” The boy grinned, nervously. “But maybe sometimes we could have breakfast at home, instead. Just the two of us.”

      His wistful tone tugged at something deep inside Lucas, called to the part of him he’d retired when he’d finished his last tour with the marines and walked from his medevac days. The boy’s eyes were almost pleading, as though he were grasping at a lifeline. Lucas glanced around for a reason to excuse himself, to retreat from that haunted look in the child’s eyes. It reminded him too much of himself at that age—lost and looking for an anchor.

      The boy shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

      “Pun intended?” Lucas grinned, though he felt anything but lighthearted.

      As if September twenty-eighth wasn’t enough to deal with, the thought that this poor kid believed an espresso machine would solve his troubles added to his weariness. Lucas glanced again at the kid’s mom. The kid wanted more time with her, a quiet breakfast, at least. That seemed a reasonable request. What kind of mother wouldn’t give her kid that? Was she a workaholic or did she suffer from some other affliction?

      She looked healthy enough. Even Lucas wasn’t so dead he didn’t notice the shape of her body, the tone of her muscles. The woman was physically fit, if nothing else, but that in itself could be a symptom. His buddy Toby had been fanatical about working out. After Iraq, he’d stepped up his daredevil activities, jumping from planes, scaling impossible cliffs, diving from that seventy-foot rock. He’d needed the endorphins just to feel normal.

      But even that hadn’t helped in the end.

      Was the kid’s mother just going through the motions? She spent plenty of time in Lucas’s coffee shop, always on the phone or her laptop, conducting her business from the comfort of his overstuffed chairs. Something in her overly vigilant attitude made it seem she wasn’t ever at ease, though.

      He’d gotten to know a good many of his customers, chatting with them on a regular basis, but Grey’s mom always kept to herself. No matter how involved she was with whatever she was doing, she remained on edge, contained.

      No, he guessed she wasn’t comfortable, at least not here. Was she uptight at home, too?

      The kid cleared his throat, drawing Lucas’s attention again to the espresso machines. “How much?” he asked.

      “Well, that’s top-of-the-line.” Lucas tilted his head to the left, indicating another machine. “That one isn’t as pricey, but does the basics. It’s eighty bucks.”

      “Eighty?” The boy bit his lip. “Do you have...some kind of...payment plan?”

      “Not really, but I know the owner. I think we can work something out, probably even get you a discount,” Lucas said. Though why he felt compelled to help the kid, he didn’t know.

      “Really?” Relief filled those brown eyes.

      “Grey?” The kid’s mother moved toward them, espresso and smoothie in hand. Her gaze skimmed over Lucas, than quickly away. “We’ve got to go, honey.”

      “Okay.” Grey took his smoothie and turned to leave with his mom, but then he ran back to Lucas. He stuck out his hand, held Lucas’s gaze and kept his voice low. “We’ll take care of the details next time.”

      Lucas hesitated for half a second as his stomach tightened over the hope in the kid’s eyes. He had no business getting into some secret deal with the boy. A stupid espresso machine wasn’t going to do shit to solve the kid’s problems.

      As the boy’s mother took a nervous step toward them, Lucas shook the small hand, feeling he was committing to so much more than helping Grey surprise her for her birthday or whatever, but knowing he couldn’t turn back now. “Deal.”

      A smile split the boy’s face, sending a sense of guilt spiraling through Lucas. Why did he feel like he was promising something he couldn’t deliver?

      * * *

      GREY SIGHED as Paul Cooper plopped into the seat beside him later that afternoon. He’d been stoked about the espresso machine for most of the day, but Paul had a way of bringing him down.

      “So, what does your dad do?” Paul paused only long enough for Grey to frown. “Mine is an attorney. He goes to court. He helps people. Does your dad help people?” Again, the breath of a pause before he continued. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but he brings me really cool stuff when he visits. Last week he took me to see the Falcons. It was so cool. Where do you go with your dad?”

      Paul swatted at a stray fly that had found its way into the classroom. “He’s coming to see me next weekend and I get to spend the summer with him,” he said. “He has a place on the beach. Do you like the beach?”

      Now he stopped and stared, waiting for Grey’s response. Grey stared back, his stomach tightening. He used to like the beach, but Mom said she didn’t believe in vacations anymore. Too much relaxing and peace and quiet.

      He shrugged, saying, “The beach is cool.”

      “My dad said if I wanted I could live with him at the beach all the time, but my mom said no way. It’s in Tybee, which is still Georgia, but Momma says it’s too far. Does your dad live with you, or are your parents divorced?” Again, the stare, while Paul waited, his eyes round.

      My dad’s dead.

      Grey gritted his teeth. He should just say it. It wasn’t true, but it could be. For all he knew his dad had kicked the bucket in the years since they’d last heard from him. If he told Paul his dad was dead then Paul would quit asking all these stupid questions. Grey opened his mouth, but the words