Page 70 of Carter

“This is for me?” I ask, my heart nearly bursting.

“Yeah, figured you’d need it.”

When’s the last time someone got me something because they were thinking of me? Because they thought I needed it. Because they recognized I needed it.

Years. It’s been years.

Behind him, Hazel stands there with the boxes of donuts in her hands and mouths, “He got you a coffee!” Normally I’d laugh, but the gesture is hitting me hard right in the chest. It aches, but this is not the sort of ache I’ve become accustomed to. It’s different. Warmer.

“Carter?” Nash says gently.

“Yeah, sorry.” I take the coffee but I can’t look at him. “Guess I need it more than I thought. Thank you.”

“Any time,” he answers as I pop open the top of the coffee. “So, what do we need to do today?”

I sip my coffee to give myself a minute to recover from whatever the hell just happened. The coffee is hot, so I get just enough to taste it. And it issogood. Caramel latte. Just like I ordered that first day we went to the coffee shop.He remembered.I push the thought from my head. There are too many things to do right now; I can go over this later.

“Well, after everyone is finished enjoying the breakfast you brought, we need to finish restocking the pet supplies and make sure we have enough applications printed. We get hundreds of applications during this event.”

“There are different applications, right?”

I smile. “Look at you remembering things.”

His memory was the first thing I really noticed about him. He’s observant, as he should be. But he also remembers things. Little things. Important things. Something that could be a curse, I’d guess. Sometimes it’s easier to forget. Nash doesn’t.

“Hm, what else do we need to do?” I scan the room to see if anything will pop into my head. “Oh, we need to set up the different stations out here. The tables are in the stockroom, but that’s the last thing we’ll do because it takes up a lot of space. Then everyone will get assigned a job.”

“Like what?” he asks.

I take another small sip of my coffee. Nash watches me, waiting for an answer. Eager to get going. To be here. To do this.

With me or just because he’s helping in general?

“Well, we need greeters, meeters, and applicationers.” I chuckle.

He narrows his gaze. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, I say, “It’s just how I remember it.”

He sips his own coffee, tipping the cup enough that I can tell it’s almost empty.

“What does each job entail?”

“Greeters greet the people coming in, help organize them, give them the run down. Meeters are the people who take them into the back to look at the pets they’re interested in. And applicationers—”

“Help them fill out applications?” he questions.

“I do enjoy how smart you are.” I say it before I think better of it and then try to hide the fact my cheeks are heating by quickly adding, “They also accept the applications and pass them on to Hazel and Rose who will look them over and approve them. It’s important.”

After everyone has had their fill of donuts, we get to work with everything we have left to do. Nash and I get split up, doing different things, which is fine with me. He’s competent and doesn’t need me to hold his hand. I spot him a few times, and he is completely in his element. Helping people. That’s what he does. Doesn’t matter the situation or place. It’s coded into his DNA to help and protect—to make other people’s lives easier.

Maybe it’s a trauma response, but I think he would have been a good man regardless of what happened to him.

“So, how’s things with the hot cop?” Hazel asks from beside me in a low voice. She runs the box cutter through the tape to open the shipping box.

“What does that mean?” I ask, giving her a look like she’s crazy.

“Oh, come on. You’ve been staring at him for like ten minutes.” Her eyes stay on me as she opens the flaps. Inside are handmade bandannas for the dogs who get adopted.