Page 238 of Wild Card 13

His eyes swept over my face. Not obviously. Not in a way anyone else would have caught. But I caught it because my body still knew too much about the way Ty Burns noticed me. He lifted the cup in his right hand. “For you.”

I looked at it. Paper Lantern logo. My heart fluttered for a flickering moment. The order sticker was turned slightly toward me. Double Italian roast caffè latte. Whole milk. Extra shot. Light microfoam.

Not a flavored latte. Not the overly sweet thing people assumed I drank because I liked seasonal coffee sometimes. Not arena coffee disguised by vanilla syrup and optimism.

My actual order.

The one Naomi made when I showed up at Paper Lantern before opening and looked like I might need caffeine administered by licensed personnel.

“And,” Ty added, lifting the smaller cup, “for Dottie.”

Dottie made a sound I had never heard from her before. Something between a whine, a gasp, and a formal declaration of allegiance.

Probably because Naomi’s café had apparently become an accomplice. But possibly due to the fact that my dog had a more active social network than I did.

Dottie took one step toward Ty. Then another. Then she sat directly in front of him with a level of obedience she had never once offered me in a professional setting.

Ty looked down at her. “That feels like a yes.”

“She is easily corrupted.”

His eyes flicked back to mine. His fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup. His mouth softened, then closed. His shoulderssettled as if he had physically put something down before it crossed the room.

He looked at Dottie instead. “Can I give this to her?”

The question was ridiculous. It also almost undid me. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms because my body needed a barrier. “You may give Dottie her personalized beverage.”

Dottie’s tail thumped hard.

Ty crouched just outside my office and set the cup on the floor. “There you go.”

Dottie moved with shocking speed for a dog who liked to pretend stairs required moral support. Her nose went straight into the cup.

Ty stood, and this time he did smile. Not huge. Not victorious. Just small and real, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

He held my coffee out.

I stood because staying seated made the room feel too uneven. I crossed the office and took it from him, careful not to touch his fingers.

I failed. A brush of knuckle against knuckle. Nothing more. My body reacted like touch had memory stored in the bones.

Ty’s eyes dropped for half a second.

The cup was warm in my hand. The Paper Lantern sleeve had a tiny ink mark near the seam, probably from whoever had written Dottie Girl with unnecessary affection. I looked down at it because looking at him had become a problem. “Is this you showing me you’ll show up?” I asked.

His answer came without hesitation. “Yep.”

My throat tightened. I looked up.

He stood in the doorway, not quite relaxed, not quite braced. Waiting, but not demanding. Present, but not invading.

“Every morning?” I asked.

His mouth curved. A flicker of the old Ty broke through before adult Ty caught it and made it gentler. He winked. “See you tomorrow.”

Then he turned and left.

No lingering.