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words on the page swam and reoriented themselves. Tears collected and threatened to fall, a lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t indulged in a pity party this dark in almost two years.
           And she wasn’t about to do it now. She was being ridiculous. There was no hard and fast rule for recovering from a traumatic incident, and she was allowed to backslide every once in a while. As long as she didn’t let it take over. She forced her attention to her book. Word by word, she picked her way through the sentences, then the paragraphs, until the pages sped by without effort.
           It swirled around her, the story and the characters and their ups and downs pulling her to and fro. She forgot about her disappointment, her anxiety, whether she’d ever manage a normal relationship again. The story swallowed her whole and held her there, like Jonah in the belly of a whale.
           “Hey.”
           She jumped, dropping her book into her lap. “Jesus. Ninja skills, much?” Taylor stood in front of her, holding a cup of coffee, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
           He bent down and picked up her bookmark. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
           “Right,” she growled. The too-cushy chair made getting up difficult, and he cupped a hand around her elbow to help her to her feet, the gentle touch sending a thrill up her arm. “Thanks,” she mumbled, cheeks heating.
           “Hiding?”
           “Yeah.” She picked up her empty coffee cup. “I needed a break, and I didn’t want to sit in the break room where anyone could shove their nose into my space. What time is it?” The shop didn’t boast any wall clocks.
           “Almost eleven.” He waited while she deposited her cup in a plastic tub. “If you want to stay, I won’t tell anyone.” His grin was lightning quick and shifted his expression into something more approachable.
           
Oh. Wow.
           It was like she was back in the hotel room, her brain shutting down at the sight. A low thrum of sound wound through her ears as the noise of the shop disappeared, and her vision narrowed to the curve of his lips. Upward curve. Completely out of place and yet totally natural.
           His lips moved, forming shapes, and she stumbled when his hand closed around her upper arm, a spike of panic spearing her gut. Too close. Too personal. And he was all kinds of wrong for her. She inhaled, willing the tension away, and caught the scent of coffee and something else, sharp and clean, like juniper. Had to be Taylor. She almost leaned forward for a better sniff, stopping herself at the last second. “What? Sorry. No. I didn’t mean to stay away that long.”
           She glanced out the front windows of the shop. The rain had let up. She nodded toward the door. “Come on. We should head back before it starts pouring again.” His once again quiet presence beside her as they walked out of the shop and across the street to the office pushed the last of the panic back where it belonged.
           In a tiny box, chained shut.
    * * *
           Two days later she was trying not to overanalyze the incident. It was perfectly acceptable that Taylor would walk over to Stumptown for his coffee. Not everyone was willing to sacrifice good coffee to the rain, and she hadn’t been completely hidden from view. They’d had drinks together, so he’d probably felt he ought to say hello. Baby steps toward getting to know each other, although she couldn’t fathom why he wanted to try all of a sudden. She stewed over it as she mechanically ate her sandwich, sitting in the empty break room.
           This time, when Taylor sat down, she didn’t jump ten feet in the air. She slid him a glance, gave him a small smile, and bit off more sandwich.
           They developed a pattern. It took her a while to realize he wasn’t going to go away; a few lunches spent sharing a table in silence, a