Drinks and food in hand, they sat down at a table at the back.

Caz studied her for a moment. “Can you share what has you worried?”

Darn it. With Obadiah, she’d grown skilled at hiding her emotions. Free of him, it’d felt painfully good to drop that mask. But now…

A denial was on her lips, but no. She didn’t want to be a person who wasn’t honest in words or expressions. Even if it required being brave enough to drop her defenses.

After a moment, she realized Caz had leaned back, simply sipping his coffee and waiting.

“It’s like this,” she said. “I can’t work just yet, and Obadiah gave all our money—including my savings—to the PZs. You folks are putting me up, and although Frankie loaned me some money, I’m going to need it for food, future rent, and getting a car. So, although I needed this coffee more than life itself”—she smiled at him—“it’s eating at me that I can’t pay my own way. Or pay anyone back for quite a while to come.”

He took a bite of his hand pie and considered her words. “Comprendo. I’m not as prickly at receiving help as Gabe and Hawk are, but none of us enjoy feeling dependent on others.”

That he understood was incredibly comforting.

Relaxing, she nibbled on her fritter. The pastry had a lovely fried crunch. There were pieces of apples in the sweet glaze. So yummy.

And it would be her last treat for a very long time, she figured. Her mouth tightened. How soon before she was healed enough to get a job?

“Hey, Hawk, what would you like?” Sarah called from the counter. “Black coffee and…?”

Kit startled and winced at the jab of rib pain before turning to look.

Hawk stood near the door, his intent blue-gray eyes meeting hers. His thick hair was all the shades of caramel, his beard trimmed close to his jawline. He wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans—no pretenses there—yet the well-worn fabrics, which clung to his muscular chest and thick biceps, gave hints of washboard abs and molded over hard thighs.

He frowned at her before turning to Sarah. “Yeah, coffee and…” He half-turned, revealing Aric behind him. “Kid, pick a—”

“Mama!” With a delighted cry, Aric darted across the room and dodged a customer. At the last minute, he remembered her ribs and skidded to a stop.

She leaned forward to hug him. “Honey bear,” she whispered into his soft hair, inhaling the unique scent of little boy.

He nestled close, and his adorably crooked smile appeared. “We checking the happy-men.”

“The…what?” Happy men? “What happened to the sad men?”

“No, no, mijo, they’re handymen,” Caz corrected Aric. “People who fix buildings.”

“Handymen,” Aric said agreeably and whispered to her, “They have hammers ‘n’ saws ‘n’ everyt’ing.”