Her friend tilted her head and mouthed, “Okay?”
Stella could only nod because, great, if Annabelle could tell from across the room, then the whole coffee shop probably could see she was on the verge of a panic attack.
Lois stepped closer and Stella almost came out of her skin. Stella backed away from the counter and shook her head, because her throat had dried up and, seriously, she felt like she was going to hurl. She was about to tell the barista never mind, which really pissed her off because she’d waited this long for her damn coffee, when she bumped into a hard chest.
Strong and steady hands braced on her shoulders and Brandon’s deep voice came from behind her. “Black coffee and a cranberry scone.”
She didn’t want him ordering for her. She didn’t want anyone doing anything for her, because, damn it, she should be capable of handling a simple coffee order by herself.
Except she wasn’t because her throat had closed up to nothing and people were standing way too close. Touching her. Rubbing up against her and it sent prickles along her skin. Even Brandon, with his hard chest, pressing close enough to her back that she could feel the definition of his pecs, made her skin hot and itchy.
Didn’t he know not to stand too close? Hadn’t she told him she didn’t like people invading her personal space? She was pretty sure she’d mentioned that on their one date, without telling him everything about her claustrophobia/panic attacks.
The only one who knew the full extent of it was Annabelle, and she’d never tell anyone.
The coffee and scone were handed to Brandon, who threw some cash on the counter. He nudged her backside with his hips.
“Outside,” he told her. Demanded was more like it.
Stella was vaguely aware of Lois’s inquiry. “Is she all right?” the woman asked. “She looks a little green.”
“She’s fine,” Brandon answered. He gave Stella another nudge. “Get moving, woman, before you puke.”
“How’d you know what kind of scones I like?” she asked as she weaved on unsteady feet toward the front door, hobbling with the one leg she couldn’t bend because of the brace.
“Lucky guess,” he claimed. “Just go.”
And not a moment too soon they were outside, in the warmth and sunshine, where she could breathe and not have people crowd her and step on her toes. There was one free table, where Brandon set down her coffee and scone. He added napkins and sugar packets before taking a seat in the plastic chair across from her. Stella took her own seat and stretched her bad leg in front of her. She wrapped her hands around the hot paper cup while the scrumptious man across from her lifted one hip off the chair, then tossed his wallet, cell phone, and car keys on the table.
Stella picked up the scone. “This wasn’t a lucky guess.”
“Just eat it,” he ordered as he settled deeper in his chair. His wide shoulders, barely contained by a black West Custom Homes polo, were twice as big as the chair. “You need the sugar.”
Stella blinked at him, wondering how he’d known. How he’d been able to tell just by looking at her that she’d been about to come out of her skin. Was it because he had great intuition? Or because he knew her that well? Which was silly, because they’d only gone out once. All their other encounters had been brief run-ins around town.
“Trisha started having panic attacks after Matt was born. I recognized the look on your face,” Brandon said as though he’d known what she was thinking.
Stella bit into the scone, allowing the thick, sugary pastry to slide down her throat. Her heartbeat was almost back to normal. “I wasn’t having a panic attack.”
Lies.
Brandon snorted and tipped his chair back on two legs. “Says you.”
“I wasn’t,” she insisted. She didn’t want anyone’s pity, nor did she want to rely on anyone.
“Sure,” he said in a low voice. He pointed to the scone. “Eat.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and lifted the pastry to her mouth. “So bossy.” She took another bite of the scone, then washed it down with coffee. It was too strong, so she added a packet of sugar to it. Or maybe four.
Brandon watched her movements with a slight tilt of his mouth. “Addict much?”
“I’m not an addict,” she argued as she swirled the sugar around in the cup. “I just like my things sweet.”
“You know, they say the first step to getting better is admitting you have a problem,” he told her as his grin widened.
Stella managed an elegant shrug while trying to get her leg comfortable, which was pretty incredible considering she felt like a lumbering oaf with her brace on.
Brandon glanced down at her leg as though he wanted to do something about it. But he just sank deeper in his chair and stared at her with those whiskey-colored eyes.
“Won’t your coffee date be missing you right about now?”
Dear mouth: shut up!
Stella watched in horror not only as her brain ran away with her, but also as Brandon’s mouth turned up in a grin so delicious that she almost whimpered. Honest to God whimpered while her toes curled in her Toms.
“You’re not talking about Emma, are you?” he asked.
Oh, so the Barbie doll has a name.
Stella stole a sip of her coffee to hide the hammering pulse at the base of her throat. “She’s probably wondering where you’ve gone.”
Will you please stop talking? Just keep your mouth shut and drink the damn coffee!
But Brandon, the underhanded but so-freakin’-hot bastard he was, smiled even bigger. A smile that created lines at the corners of his eyes. “Emma’s a big girl. I’m sure she’s fine.”
I’ll just bet you think she’s fine.
“But if you’re that worried about her, I can ask her to join us,” he added.
Stella only stared at him.
“Didn’t think so,” he chuckled. “Just drink your coffee, Tinkerbell.”
She did as instructed, only because it was so good. Not because he told her to. “Tinkerbell was a blonde,” Stella pointed out. “So your comparison is grossly inaccurate.” A mob of high schoolers walked past their table, and Stella attempted to move her pest of a leg out of the way. But there was nowhere for it to go, seeing as she couldn’t bend it, and there was no room under the table because Brandon’s legs were the size of freakin’ tree trunks.
“She also had an attitude the size of Texas,” he argued while reaching under the table, picking up her leg, carefully and slowly, then resting it on his thigh. “I see what you were doing there. Trying to throw me off with all those big words.”
And, yeah, that felt better since it alleviated the pressure of all the blood rushing to her knee. On the other hand, having half her leg just chillin’ on Brandon’s thigh—and there was nothing soft about that baby—pretty much confirmed what she’d instinctively known about him.
He really was hard, and cut and steely everywhere.
His hand rested firmly on her ankle. “Leave it,” he instructed when she tried to shift her leg back to the ground. “Now, isn’t that better?” he asked with a devilish gleam in his eyes.