The door opens. He looks down at me with surprise. “Neesha? What are you doing sitting on my porch?”
Lucian is now mercifully wearing a shirt, looking down at me with concern and what might be a little amusement.
“Just enjoying the lovely view of your front door,” I say, wincing as I try to get up.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Totally fine,” I lie, attempting to stand without looking like I’m an old woman. “I’ll probably have a bruise on my tailbone, but that’s what I get for tripping over Henry Cavill.”
He blinks. “The actor?”
“NottheHenry Cavill,” I say, then point to my dog, who’snow investigating Lucian’s porch because I dropped his leash when I fell. “ThisHenry Cavill, named after my celebrity crush.”
“At least you have excellent taste in British men,” he says, his lips quirking a little. “Where’s he from?”
“Technically, the Maple Falls animal shelter, where they found him living his best dumpster-diving life behind The Glass Olive.”
“Ah.” Lucian nods and says in all seriousness, “Pasta’s always a solid choice for dumpster cuisine.”
I laugh despite my embarrassment. “You say that like you’ve tried it.”
“Well, maybe I have. You’ll have to stick around to find out.” He smiles and it makes me feel a little better—or at least temporarily distracts me from the throbbing pain on my backside.
He studies me for a moment. “I don’t have a proper first-aid kit, but I do have a few ice cubes. Stay right there.”
Before I can protest, he disappears inside. When he returns, he holds out a bag of ice.
“I figure you’ll want to apply this yourself?” he asks, handing it over.
I press it against my tailbone through my jeans, hissing at the cold. “Thanks. I’m not dying, just mildly humiliated. You know, just another weeknight in the life of Neesha Gilmore.”
“What were you doing out here anyway?” he asks, glancing at the scattered flyers all over his porch—another casualty of my fall. “Besides accidentally providing entertainment for the neighbors?”
Heat floods my face. “Delivering cupcake flyers to drum up business.”
He picks up one of my flyers and reads it. “Not enough business in the cafe?”
“I need some bigger orders or I’ll be eating ramen for the next month. And not the fancy kind—the twenty-five-cent packetsthat taste like the life of a poor college student.” I bend down to try to pick up a flyer.
“I’ll get those for you,” he says, gathering the rest of my scattered flyers. “Maybe you should be saving for a new espresso machine too.”
“I figure I’ll just call you the next time it breaks,” I say, then immediately want to take it back because that sounds way too presumptuous. “I mean—not that I expect—I just meant?—”
“No apology necessary,” he says, his smile gentle. “I don’t mind being your personal appliance-repair service in the meantime. You don’t have to fix everything yourself, you know.”
I cross my arms. “Says the man who literally fixed my espresso machine this morning without being asked.”
“Okay, fair point. That’s kind of my fatal flaw—seeing broken things and wanting to help.” His eyes meet mine. “And you definitely needed it.”
“Yeah, well, I would’ve figured something out. But thank you. I owe you.”
“You already paid me in cupcakes,” he says. “Best payment I’ve ever received.”
Just then, Henry’s head snaps up as Mrs. Nelson’s black-and-white cat struts into view.
“Henry, don’t you dare—” I start, but it’s too late.
My dog bolts after the cat, who tears across the street with Henry in hot pursuit. The last time Henry chased a cat, he was gone for two days. After losing Mom, he’s literally all I have left.
