In Front of Me

by Dana LeCheminant

  “I smelled that,” he corrected. “Brennon has the worst taste in coffee, and he thinks I don’t know the difference just because I can’t see the label. Come on.” And with that, he opened his door and stepped onto the curb.

  The man did not just send me into a panic because he wanted some coffee. “Hey!” I said, still strapped into the car. He was nearly to the door as someone held it open for him, so I fought to free myself of the seatbelt and stumbled inside after him, barely registering the bittersweet scent of coffee lingering in the air around me.

  I only got two steps into the cute little shop when I heard a surprised, “Lissa?”

  My eyes wide, I turned and found Catherine’s cousin, Matthew, staring at me from where he sat reading at one of the little wooden tables that littered the shop’s cozy lobby. Never mind he recognized me at all, but recognizing me when I was supposed to be back in Boston left me a little stunned as I stood there. Sure, we had talked during the drive from the airport, but he’d been watching the road the whole time, and with all the attention he gave Indie, I doubted he had ever gotten a good look at my face.

  “Lissa!” another voice chimed in, and suddenly his girlfriend had her arms around me in a strangling hold. “What are you doing here?”

  I was about to ask the same thing when it clicked. Indiana Brews. “You own a coffee shop?” I asked Indie, both surprised and amazed. It was an adorable little shop, with lots of wood and Edison bulbs and a very hipster feel to it. Exactly the sort of place I would have expected to see in San Francisco. And by the looks of the shop’s many customers milling around the place, even though it was early afternoon, it was the place to be.

  Her eyes bright and her smile wide, Indie shook her head. “He owns it,” she corrected, nodding toward Matthew.

  Matthew just rolled his eyes and took a sip of what I was pretty sure was hot chocolate, not coffee. It even had mini marshmallows bobbing at the top. “What’s it going to take to stop you from saying that?” he asked, and then he subconsciously rubbed his empty ring finger with his thumb, unknowingly telling me he knew exactly what would convince Indie to consider the shop hers. I wondered how long it would be before he popped the question.

  “What are you doing here?” Indie asked without giving Matthew a response. “I thought you were heading back to Boston yesterday.”

  “I was,” I said, “but then I…” My stomach flipped. Oh crap, where was Steve? Spinning a full 180 degrees, I breathed a sigh of relief when I found him staring at the menu on the wall with his scowl growing deeper by the second. Even if he could see a little bit, there was no way he could possibly read that. “Hey,” I said, turning back to Indie, “do you have a handheld menu by chance?”

  Indie procured one from the pocket of her apron, and I quickly brought it over to Steve, stuffing it into his hands without preamble. He stared at it, and then at me, and then he looked back at the menu as the little wrinkle between his eyebrows grew deeper than I’d seen it yet. “Thanks,” he muttered, sounding more surprised than anything.

  “Um.” Indie suddenly grabbed my hand, pulling me back toward Matthew’s table with way too excited a look on her face. “Who’s that?”

  I knew she eagerly awaited my answer—even Matthew looked up from his book with interest—but I glanced back at Steve and couldn’t help but grin. He held the menu only an inch from his face and looked somewhat cross-eyed. But he also almost smiled, which was a much better look for him than his usual scowl.

  “Friend of a friend,” I said, turning back to the couple a second too late to catch the bulk of the look they shared. “What?”

  Matthew pretended to be immersed in his book again, but Indie smiled. “He’s cute,” she said. And if she kept talking at this volume, I would have to end this conversation real quick.

  “He’s annoying,” I replied quietly. “He just got out of the hospital and needs someone with him at all times, and I had some vacation days to spend, so I volunteered.”

  “That’s not a vacation,” Matthew said with a pitying grimace.

  Indie slapped her hand against his shoulder. “What would you know?” she asked him. “You haven’t had a vacation since you were seventeen.”

  “Anything is a vacation when you work where I work,” I replied before Matthew offered up whatever witty response he came up with. “It’s just nice to get away.” I could see the concern building in their eyes, which meant I hadn’t hidden the bitterness that crept up whenever I thought about my old job, so I glanced back to see Steve being handed his coffee and gave the pair of them a wave. “Gotta run,” I said, “but it was good to see you.”

  “Don’t be a stranger!” Indie called after me. “Stop by any time.”

  I linked my arm with Steve’s and pulled him a little faster than necessary toward the door, just in case Indie decided to offer some sort of assistance I didn’t need. After the way she’d talked to me at Seth’s wedding, I had a feeling she was the sort of person who offered up help at the slightest provocation, and Matthew was probably the same way. I didn’t need them halting their lives just because I’d impulsively made some questionable decisions.

  We got all the way to the sidewalk before Steve slipped from my grip and glanced back at the shop. “Who was that?” he asked. Why was he so interested?

  “No one,” I replied and opened his door for him.

  He didn’t move. “She sounded nice. He did too. Why run?”

  “Because they’re going to try to help me,” I said. “Just get in the car.”

  He did as instructed, but the second I sat in my own seat, he turned to me and raised one eyebrow. “Help you in the same way you’re trying to help me?” he said. What was that supposed to mean?

  “I don’t…” I stopped myself from fighting back. Steve seemed like the sort of person who would keep pushing an issue unless it concerned him, and it was a little unnerving how much of myself I saw in him. “They’re Catherine’s family,” I explained quietly and pulled out into the street, back en route to the grocery store. “Which means they’re Seth’s family. Which means they’re my family.”

  “Curse those pesky families trying to make sure you’re looked after and cared for,” he muttered into his coffee cup.

  If only he could see my glare. “They’re just a little overbearing,” I argued.

  “Because someone worrying about you is just the worst.”

  That wasn’t what I meant, and he knew it. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” I grumbled.

  “Then don’t ask for it.” There it was again, a complete change of mood for no apparent reason. Steve was exhausting, and I had no idea how Brennon had put up with him for so long.

  * * *

  Steve was silent the whole time at the grocery store, simply following behind me with his hands in his pockets as I pushed the cart and occasionally grunting when I asked him if he would eat certain things. He didn’t say a word on the drive home either, and I had a feeling the trend would continue once we got back to the apartment, since he didn’t give any indications otherwise.

  I deserved his annoyance. At least a little. I shouldn’t have complained that people cared about me, especially people who barely knew me, but that was half the problem. They didn’t know me. They didn’t know what I was capable of or what I’d been through, and they assumed I couldn’t take care of myself even though I’d been doing that for a long time. Even after Indie said it had taken her a while to get used to the Davenports, she obviously fit right in with them because she had Matthew. Catherine had Seth. Lanna had Adam.

  And I had a feeling they would likely keep pestering me until I had my own outrageously perfect man on my arm. Indie hadn’t exactly been subtle when she said Steve was cute.

  Brennon brought home takeout for dinner, which was great since I wasn’t in the mood to cook and I honestly couldn’t tell if Steve was in the mood to eat, seeing as he went straight into his room after we got back from the store and hadn’t emerged from his headphone haze s
ince. I was flipping through TV channels, certifiably bored, and a wave of warmth passed over me the moment Brennon stepped through the door.

  “You’re back,” I breathed, letting that knowledge lift some of the gloominess that had settled over me.

  Brennon glanced toward the bedrooms as he set the food on the table then settled next to me on the couch. “How’s Steve?” he asked, slipping his hand into mine.

  “Steve’s fine,” Steve himself answered from his room, his frustration clear in his voice.

  “Steve’s in a mood,” I added in a whisper and ran my fingers along Brennon’s jaw. He hadn’t taken the time to shave that morning, and I was liking the scruff.

  Smiling, he scooted a little closer, turning his head so my fingers brushed his lips. “Steve’s always in a mood lately.”

  I had a lot I wanted to say, but Brennon seriously made it hard to focus with the way his kisses trailed down my hand to my wrist. I settled with the most important. “I don’t think he likes me very much,” I said. “Maybe someone else would…”

  Sighing—apparently I killed our mood—Brennon shook his head. “If he’s in a mood now, he’d been even worse with a stranger.”

  Based on what I knew about the guy, I didn’t doubt it, but that didn’t help my problem. “But I’m a stranger.”

  Leaning in, Brennon just barely touched his lips to mine, teasing me with a kiss meant to disarm my argument. It was working. I pulled in closer, deepening the embrace until my head spun. “I’d be okay if we changed that,” he whispered against my lips, and then I was lost to his touch.

  “Food,” Steve said suddenly and loudly as he passed the couch on his way to the table.

  I almost laughed, my face burning as Brennon’s grin nearly pulled me back in. “Food,” I whispered back, and Brennon did laugh, helping me to my feet so we could join Steve. Though how I was supposed to focus on Kung Pao Chicken, I had no idea. Not after a kiss like that. Maybe Brennon wasn’t “the one” my new family probably hoped I would find, and maybe this thing between us wouldn’t last. Particularly because the man apparently didn’t believe in love. I was starting to wonder how true that really was, based on how easily he fell into rhythm with me. But I liked him—a lot—and I wasn’t about to douse the flame just because there was a chance it might rain.

  In a few days, Steve would be fine to spend his days alone like he wanted, and Brennon and I could figure out whatever this was. For now, I would just have to enjoy his surreptitious smiles across the table and hope they lasted.

  Chapter Eight

  Morning brought with it the smell of bacon. I loved bacon. “But why so early?” I moaned as my stomach rumbled, effectively ruining any chance I had of falling back asleep for an hour or two. I had no idea how Brennon managed to stay up late watching a movie with me and then get up early enough to cook bacon before work, but I envied him the ability. I had never been a morning person, something all the tabloid magazines had been sure to exploit back when the world had thought Seth and I were dating.

  “Oh, come on,” I mumbled and pressed a pillow over my face. I had nearly forgotten about those terrifying months of paparazzi hoping to figure out who the elusive Lissa Montgomery was who had stolen the heart of America’s favorite bachelor. They all thought I was some glamorous millionaire who would help raise Seth’s already ridiculously high status until we were the ultimate power couple and out running the world one smile at a time. I’m his sister, you idiots, I finally told them, and the tabloid tales thankfully stopped there.

  Did Brennon know about that brief part of my life? He certainly seemed like the type to pay attention to the latest gossip. Maybe I’d subtly ask him about it over breakfast, just to see if he, like the rest of the world, had fallen into a temporary lapse of judgment. Like when one magazine decided I was beauty and grace and marrying Mr. United States, all the common folk apparently in agreement and cheering me on for a very short period of time.

  “Wake up, Lissa!” I scolded myself, too lost in my thoughts to remember there was bacon out in the main room. Bacon and Brennon.

  Yawning, I trudged down the hallway and tried to somewhat straighten my hair with my fingers so I wasn’t an absolute mess. Sure, the man had seen me drunk and nearly had to endure me vomiting on his shoes, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t put in a little effort. I wanted to keep him around, not scare him off, and I could only get so lucky.

  “How is it stock brokers have unlimited energy?” I asked as I approached the kitchen counter.

  Steve looked up from the two boxes he held, and my heart skipped a beat in embarrassment. Steve. Not Brennon. Steve was making bacon? “I have no idea,” he muttered, “and it’s a little terrifying when you get the bigshot going. Which one of these is pancake mix?”

  I glanced at the two identical boxes. “Uh, both,” I said.

  His eyes very nearly focused on me as he stared in my direction, his brow pulling together in that single wrinkle. “Both,” he repeated. “Are you telling me you bought two boxes of pancake mix?”

  “I happen to like pancakes,” I replied and reached for the plate of bacon, taking a bite of the expertly crispy meat. The man knew what he was doing. “You’re making breakfast,” I pointed out, my statement almost a question. So far, I’d only seen him eat cereal, and that included both breakfast and lunch. The guy wasn’t exactly Gordon Ramsay.

  “And they say I’m blind,” he muttered to himself as he carefully measured the mix into a measuring cup. “You know, I did manage to feed myself before you appeared.” With the way his clothes hung loose on his thin frame, I wasn’t sure how true that was.

  I watched him mix the pancake batter, sloshing a bunch out the side of the bowl, and though my instinct was to hurry forward and help him, I just sat at the kitchen table and watched him knock over the box of mix with his elbow.

  “Oops,” he said as the mix spilled across the counter. Oops? That was not the word I expected him to say, not after some of the things I’d heard come out of his mouth. Something was different about today, and I was starting to get seriously concerned about this man’s mood swings. He was almost happy as he successfully managed to flip a pancake without tossing it out of the pan. I wondered…

  “How did you lose your sight?” I asked softly, and his movement slowed. Would he answer?

  “An accident,” he said after a moment.

  I didn’t ask any follow up questions because I didn’t want to push him too far, but it was something. An accident. One that likely caused a head injury, if my little bit of research into cortical visual impairment was correct. That, and what the doctor had been saying at the hospital.

  “How much can you see?” I continued. That, I figured, wasn’t too prying of a question, and it would help me know how much he actually needed my help.

  He took a slow breath, subconsciously working his spoon through the pancake batter as he thought about my question. “Close things,” he said quietly. “Bright colors. Some shapes. It changes from day to day, but…”

  “I was reading about it,” I told him. “Sometimes your sight can come back.”

  He almost smiled, but it was more of an ironic upturn of his lips. “It’s been two years,” he replied. “I don’t think it’s ever coming back.”

  Well not with that attitude. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed it, but I moved into my next question in my quest to figure out who this blind man was. “So why the pancakes?” I asked.

  “You happen to like pancakes,” he replied without missing a beat, and that almost-smile of his grew.

  I grinned, definitely preferring this happy version of Steve to the grumpy pessimist. Maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Come on.”

  “Consider it a thank you,” he said and placed a plate of food in front of me. It all looked delicious, and I had a hard time keeping my focus on the man and not the food. I had to capitalize on his chattiness before it disappeared.

  “Thank me for what?” I asked.

 
“Yesterday.” He sat opposite me with his own plate, the confused wrinkle deep between his eyebrows as he gazed at his food. “Bren would have read the menu to me.”

  He was thanking me for giving him the handheld menu? “I just figured that was the easiest,” I said. I hadn’t even thought about how annoying it must have been to have people do everything for him. Maybe that was why he was so grumpy, and he needed those little victories to keep his spirits up. Losing his sight had to have been a hard blow, and I was amazed he had gotten this far more or less intact.

  “Are you actually going to eat this time?” I asked, frowning a little as I looked more closely at how poorly most of his clothes fit. Either Brennon was really bad at remembering to go grocery shopping, or there was something more at play here. I worried it was the latter.

  Steve stopped pushing eggs around his plate and looked up at me in confusion. “What?”

  If I was going to look after this guy for the next week, I might as well do a good job. “Last night,” I said. “You barely ate anything.”

  “I ate,” he argued.

  “Three bites of chicken doesn’t count.”

  “I ate your chicken.”

  “That was the day before and also doesn’t count. And before you say you eat cereal, I’m not sure Cocoa Puffs actually counts as a valid food option.”

  I was pretty sure he didn’t know what to do with that comment, and he just sat there with his mouth slightly open, extremely focused in my direction. Brennon probably never noticed how much he pretended to eat by moving things around and taking small bites, so Steve had probably gotten used to doing it. Why he would avoid eating, I wasn’t sure, but I guessed it had something to do with the accident that made him blind. I would have to see if Brennon had any pictures of Steve before the accident to be positive. But for now, I had to make sure the guy ate some actual breakfast.

  Still in his stare-down, Steve slowly speared a clump of egg with his fork and stuck it in his mouth, making a show of chewing and swallowing. If I wasn’t afraid he would stop, I’d probably start laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Instead, I just grinned and hoped he really couldn’t see me all that well.