“Dios.” Caz held up his hands and took a step back. “Sorry, chica. I forget to make noise when I walk.”

“It’s fine.” She’d been watching the front door, not thinking about someone coming out of the clinic. Blindsiding her.

From now on, she’d know better.

He went down on his haunches, relieving her anxiety of being at a disadvantage before it had a chance to register. “I’m taking a break and getting us both some coffee. Do you want your coffee here or would you like to join me across the street?”

She almost smiled. Caz’s Spanish-accented voice was the auditory equivalent of melted chocolate. So different from Hawk’s.

Her brows drew together at the way he’d phrased his question. She would be getting coffee. Joining him was optional. He must have realized she’d refuse if he’d asked her if she wanted coffee. “Were you born tactful and sneaky, or did you learn that in school?”

He laughed. “I will answer your question across the street.” Standing, he stepped back so she could rise.

As they walked across the room toward the door, Regina tossed Caz a satisfied salute.

“She called you, didn’t she?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Sí. She knows I enjoy company with my break.”

Charm like his should be considered lethal. Yet there was something even more satisfying about Hawk’s completely blunt, whittled-to-the-minimum kinds of answers.

The bell over the coffee shop door clanged lightly as they entered. With a sweet, old-fashioned décor, the room had wooden pews rubbed to softness forming booths along the front window and right side. A few people sat at tables and chairs in the center.

Behind the glass-fronted pastry display to the left, a lean brunette waved a latex-gloved hand. “Doc, your usual? And we have apple empanadas. Want one?”

“Yes to both, please. A drink and pastry for Kit, here, too.” When she started to shake her head, he simply smiled. “After being tortured by our physical terrorist, you deserve caffeine and something sweet.”

His charm was a thin mulch hiding a very stubborn personality. She wasn’t going to win.

He leaned an arm on the counter. “Sarah, this is Kit, who is staying with us out at the Hermitage. She’s Aric’s mother. Kit, this is Sarah. She and her husband own the shop.”

“Aric’s mama?” Sarah clapped her hands. “He must be happy you’re on your feet again. He’s simply adorable.”

Anyone who liked Aric had to be a wonderful person. Kit beamed. “He really is, thank you.” After a quick study of the handwritten menu on the chalkboard, she picked a plain coffee and indulged in an old-fashioned apple fritter. Because Caz was right; she deserved it.

But somehow her list of people she owed kept getting longer. How ever would she pay everyone back?