The bell above the café door rang as Lauren guided Luke inside with one arm around his back.

The familiar smell of coffee and fresh bread reached him through the lingering pepper spray. Usually, it was enough to make his stomach growl. This time, it only reminded him how much safer the café felt than the street outside.

Lauren led him toward the small employee bathroom at the back.

"I need to rinse your eyes," she said. "It’s going to hurt, but you have to let me do it."

Luke nodded and allowed her to position him over the sink. She supported his forehead with one hand while carefully washing the spray from his face with the other.

The water stung like needles against his skin. He clenched his jaw and tried to endure it quietly, but a groan still escaped him.

"I’m sorry," Lauren murmured.

"It’s okay."

"No, it isn’t."

Her answer came so quickly that Luke fell silent.

Once she had rinsed away as much of the spray as possible, Lauren helped him into the staff room and eased him onto the couch. She returned with a first-aid kit, a damp towel, and a glass of water.

"Drink slowly."

His fingers trembled when he reached for the glass, so she kept one hand around it and guided it toward his mouth. The cool water soothed some of the burning in his throat.

"We should get you checked at a clinic," Lauren said. "You were hit several times, and I don’t know how much of that spray you breathed in."

"I can’t afford that."

"I didn’t ask whether you could afford it."

Luke lowered the glass. "It’s already getting better."

Lauren studied him with a look that made it clear she wasn’t convinced.

"If your breathing gets worse or your vision doesn’t clear properly, we’re going. I’m not arguing with you about it."

He knew better than to challenge that tone. "All right."

"I also need to call the police."

Luke tensed. "I couldn’t see their faces clearly."

"You saw them before they sprayed you, didn’t you?"

"A little. They were teenagers, and one of them wore a red jacket. That’s about all I remember."

"Then that’s what we’ll tell them. They attacked you close to my café, and they might do the same thing to someone else."

The thought of answering questions made his stomach twist, but Lauren was right. Even if the police never found them, pretending the attack hadn’t happened would not bring his money back.

"Okay," he said quietly.

Some of the tension left her expression. "Good. We’ll call once you can see well enough to speak to them without falling over."

"Thank you," Luke whispered.

"You don’t have to thank me."

He did, though. During the six months he had been visiting the café, Lauren had given him coffee, leftover pastries, and a warm place to sit whenever the weather turned cold. Gratitude was the only thing he had to offer her.

After cleaning the scrapes on his palms, she examined the bruise forming along his cheek. As his vision gradually cleared, her face emerged from the blur.

Luke first noticed the small mole near her lips and the concern in her blue eyes. Her long black hair had fallen over one shoulder, and a few loose strands framed her face.

Some of the tightness in his chest began to ease.

Lauren was beautiful, and he had known that since the first day he entered her café. Her mature features drew attention without effort, while her apron followed the generous curves of her body. Even with worry tightening her expression, there was something naturally soft and inviting about her.

More than anything, she made him feel safe. Looking at her brought to mind warm meals, clean sheets, and a light left on for someone expected to come home.

Then she leaned closer to inspect his cheek, carrying with her the faint scent of perfume. Luke became aware of the softness of her hands and the way her blouse fit beneath the apron.

A different kind of warmth spread through him, followed almost immediately by shame.

She was treating him with more kindness than anyone ever had. He shouldn’t have been noticing her body or wondering how it would feel to remain in her arms, but controlling those thoughts was easier said than done.

Lauren embodied everything he had once imagined a caring mother would be. The problem was that the way her apron hugged her figure made it impossible to think of her as only that.

"You’re such a good boy," Lauren said as she brushed the hair away from his forehead. "How can someone like you have such terrible luck?"

Luke lowered his gaze. "I’m not that good."

"Don’t say that."

"You don’t really know me."

"I know enough."

She closed the first-aid kit but remained seated beside him.

"You’ve been coming here for half a year, Luke. You help me carry deliveries without being asked, and whenever something breaks around the café, you try to fix it without accepting any money. Last month, you spent almost an hour looking for that little girl’s stuffed rabbit."

"That wasn’t a big deal."

"It was to her."

Lauren watched him quietly for a moment before asking, "Where are you staying tonight?"

His stomach tightened. "I’ll find somewhere."

"That wasn’t what I asked."

When he didn’t answer, her expression grew serious.

"Have you been sleeping outside?"

"Sometimes."

"Luke."

"It’s fine."

"No, it isn’t."

He stared at the floor. "There’s a covered spot near the bus station. It doesn’t get too cold there at night."

Something shifted in Lauren’s expression. Luke couldn’t tell whether she was angry or hurt, but neither emotion seemed directed at him.

"And tomorrow?" she asked.

"I’ll look for work."

"With no phone, no clean clothes, and nowhere to sleep?"

"I’ll figure something out."

The words sounded weak even to him.

Lauren looked down at the towel in her hands. Silence settled between them, broken only by the refrigerator’s low hum and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"My daughters moved to Canada last month," she said at last. "They were accepted as sidekicks by a hero agency there."

Luke nodded. He had seen their photographs behind the counter, both young women smiling in matching sidekick uniforms.

"Things have been getting dangerous in that region," Lauren continued. "Villain attacks are becoming more frequent, and the agency keeps sending every available team into the field."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is."

The quiet way she said it revealed how much she worried, even if she never admitted that fear to her daughters.

"They’re both strong, and the heroes supervising them are experienced," Lauren said. "I know they trained hard for this, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to watch them leave."

Luke wasn’t sure anything could.

"The house has been too quiet since they moved away," she continued. "I thought I would enjoy having some time to myself, but I suppose I was wrong."

Luke had always assumed she was surrounded by people. Customers greeted her by name, delivery workers often stayed to chat, and someone always seemed to be waiting for her attention. He had never considered what happened after she locked the café and went upstairs alone.

"There are two empty bedrooms," Lauren said, "and I always make more food than I need."

"Miss Lauren..."

"You already help me around here more than most employees would. You could keep helping at the café when you’re able, at least until you find something steady."

Luke stared at her as his heart began to pound. He understood what she was offering, but it sounded too good to be real.

"You don’t have to do that."

"I know."

"I can’t pay rent."

"I didn’t ask you to."

"You barely know me."

Lauren gave him a small, gentle smile. "I’ve watched you come into this café for six months. I know you well enough to trust you."

Part of Luke wanted to believe her, but he had learned what happened when he allowed himself to hope for too much.

"What if I cause trouble?"

"You won’t."

"What if your daughters don’t like it?"

"They’ll understand."

"What if..."

"Luke."

Lauren placed her hand over his, and the warmth of her palm settled his trembling fingers.

"You don’t have to keep proving that you deserve to survive."

Luke stared at their joined hands, unable to answer.

"I’m not doing this because I pity you," she continued. "I’m doing it because I care about you, and I don’t want you sleeping on the street."

No one had ever said they cared about him so plainly. His father had thrown him away, everyone outside had ignored his pleas, and even the heroes he called for had never come.

Lauren had been the only one who stopped. She had no powers or famous name, yet she had done more for him than any hero ever had.

His eyes began to sting again, though the pepper spray was no longer responsible.

Someday, Luke wanted to repay what she had given him. He had nothing now, but he wanted to become someone she could trust and depend on. Maybe he could even become the hero she needed.

Lauren squeezed his hand.

"Luke," she asked softly, "do you want to live with me?"