The Fortune Cafe by Heather B. Moore, Melanie Jacobson, Julie Wright Page B

features. “Is she sick?”
    Emma knew what he meant. He wanted to know if her mom had a cold, or the bird flu, or cancer. He wasn’t asking if her mom was mentally sick, and Emma didn’t want to tell him, especially after he made several remarks about how Andrea’s outburst the night before proved he was right about backing off. He didn’t want a woman with any irrational tendencies.
    Emma couldn’t confess that she was genetically tainted by irrational tendencies, or at least tainted by association. Because even though she’d been the one to cancel their date, she found herself interested, interested in his making a business out of his creativity, interested in his smile, interested in his smile being aimed her direction, interested in a man who thought to bring her pencils because he recognized it would be a meaningful gift. He knew she’d had problems with her mom, but he couldn’t know the depth and breadth because what if that made him not interested. “She is sick,” she said. “I can’t leave her alone when she’s like this. I’m so sorry.”
    He looked more relieved than he did disappointed. Had he believed that she was ditching him for less respectable reasons?
    “Is there anything I can do to help?”
    Send me to a day spa , she thought. But instead she said, “Not really. It’s just something I need to handle.”
    “I bet it stresses you out a little though, right?”
    You have no idea. “Why would you say that?” Did he think she was some heartless cavewoman who didn’t like helping her sick mom? And okay, that was sort of true, but also sort of not true. She really did love her mom. But with her brother and sister abandoning her to the task, she felt like she’d been given a dull sword to battle her demons.
    She inwardly grunted at herself. She was not a heroine in her web comic. She didn’t own swords, and her demons were not long-fanged creatures with ten heads. They just felt like they were.
    “You have your Comic Con in LA this weekend. It’s a lot to do when you’re caring for a sick parent as well.”
    She almost asked how he knew that, but then remembered that he’d stalked her online, giving him access to her entire schedule for the next week. “It is a lot to do,” she agreed.
    “Want some help?” He repeated his previous question.
    “Help?”
    He grinned. “Yeah. Help. You know, that thing when you don’t have to do everything all by yourself because other people lend a hand and make it easier. Synonymous with assistance, comfort, relief, support.”
    She had the crazy desire to reach across the table, grab him by his shirt, and kiss his face off in the overwhelming gratitude she felt that he would even offer assistance. It was an offer she could never take, but the very suggestion of kindness warmed her soul. “Why?” she asked.
    He raised his eyebrows in question of her question.
    “Why do you want to help me?” she clarified.
    “Payback,” he said, “for all the times you’ve helped me.”
    She shook her head, confused. “But I haven’t—”
    He lowered his voice. “Yes, you have. I always had a friend to sit next to as long as you were in my classes.”
    “Assigned seating does not count as help, ” she hedged.
    “It counts because it wasn’t always assigned. And you never moved away— even when you had a choice. You always talked to me before class started. You always loaned me pencils because I never remembered mine.” He lifted one shoulder at the same time a corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “I figured I owed you a pencil or twenty since I’m pretty sure you never got some of those pencils back.”
    She laughed and looked back toward the dining room she’d been ignoring, hoping he didn’t see the blush that surely crawled all over her face. “I have to get back to work. Thank you so much for those pencils. And for everything. Thanks for the offer. If I need help with anything, I’ll call you, since some sneaky guy put your