I had a good couple of months of normalcy. I barely noticed that the five arsonists/murderers weren't around anymore. I definitely didn't start up from wherever I might be every single fucking time the bells on the entrance chimed. I most certainly didn't nearly break my fucking leg on my own goddamn coffee table when one of the specialty ingredients I ordered came to my apartment door when the delivery driver came after hours.

You know what? Normalcy is wonderful. I mean, the amount of THINGS I got completed. The baseboards of the cafe, kitchen, and my entire fucking apartment, not to mention the public restrooms in the shop (seriously, gag, don't mention them) have never been cleaner. I also made sure that there wasn't a speck of dust in the entire shop, or my apartment. I think I made Keli worry a little bit when I started sweeping the sidewalk outside The Little Drip. It was hard to tell. Do scowls and squinting equal concern?

I hardly noticed that they weren't around at all. It really made it easier every time that Detective Marks and Detective Johnson came in to see if my memory had been jogged at all about the night of the fire. They hadn't mentioned the dead person, and neither did the news. I started to wonder if maybe Clay had been mistaken. If there was a dead body, wouldn't it be news? Instead the focus seemed to be on the fire itself, as though a building was more important than a person's life.

It was at the beginning of the third month when I managed to NOT glance up at all when the bell signaled a customer's arrival. My nose and finger was busy with my clipboard, Wednesday the worst day of my week, but one of the best Addams family members, but then I heard it. Keli's mutter of the order and I fought against raising my head. Nope, not gonna happen today.

"Charlotte?" I sighed, and rolled my shoulders. Hallucinations brought on by trauma (the fire, renting to the firestarters, the aftermath of said fire) were perfectly normal. Even if they were auditory now. "Hey," damn it, I thought, if I look up and the fucking shop has Mrs. Angley standing in front of me asking one more fucking time if I could add a coffee combo that ONLY Nestle and their Nespresso machines had, I would explode.

I flicked my eyes up and shook my head again. Shit. From auditory to visual, I wondered if I could afford therapy. If I wasn't completely batshit, then JJ or Jen was standing in front of me. If I was, well fuck if I couldn't help the smile that spread across my traitorous face. Fucker.

"Hey," I offered, sneaking a glance at Keli to see if she was dialing for a loony wagon to come fetch me. She was busy waiting on another customer, but when she turned to make their order she shrugged and shot JJ's back a look. Shared hallucination? Nah, Keli didn't give a shit about anything in the shop, much less the customers. "How are you?" Clearly I hadn't lost my damn mind, or at least not all of it.

JJ/Jen's face broke out in that awkward smile that he charmed me with the first round, his hand scrubbing over his head like he wanted to DO something. "Yeah, good, I think." I shook my head again, every question I asked him always seemed like it was too hard to work out for him. Which was complete bullshit because I had a feeling that he was smarter than anyone could fathom. "You?"

Another sigh escaped. "I'd be better if I didn't have almost weekly visits from two cops about that weird fire that broke out across the street." The debris was gone, but Flirty and Grumpy's interest hadn't died down. "Hopefully they wind up the investigation and I can stop footing their sweet and coffee bill." I tempered it with a smile. "I better get back to my-"

"Tallies and numbering?" The deep voice cut in and I wanted to shoot myself, but I hated guns. Fuck. "Hey, Charlotte." I shut my eyes to steady myself and forced what I hoped would be a neutral smile on my face.

"Clay," I turned away with my clipboard and went back to counting, firmly feeling that we had our little talk and while they very sight of him would no doubt cause parts of me a LOT of unfulfilled pleasure, my brain said 'fuck no'. Of course I didn't know Clay all that damn well, but I definitely assumed he understood the brush off a woman turning her back to him was. I was wrong.

"Charlotte," he was beside me, and I shut my eyes again. "Can't count with your eyes closed."

"Maybe I'm doing mental math, Clay." I ground out, praying him and his ragtag group of charismatic assholes would take a hint, even as my other parts were battling the prayer to smithereens at how happy they were to see them again.

I could feel the heat of him close to me, but I had no idea how close until I opened my eyes. Fuck. He was right beside me, his arm almost brushing mine, and I wanted to hit him, or maybe just run my finger up his- Oh, no you don't, Charlotte, get your libido under control, you tart.

"Tell me what the problem is, two heads are better than one, right?" I was thinking about his second head and realized that WASN'T what he was talking about, was it? Shit. I felt my mouth go dry. How could he affect me so fucking much, we hadn't actually fucking TOUCHED?

Swallowing and trying to get saliva from anywhere at this point, a thought that shot another fucking dirty thought through me as I fucking imagined his mouth and tongue moving with mine- Wait, what was the question?

"Charlotte?" Damn it. "What addition problem are you working through? Or is it subtraction?" I flashed on the old dirty joke that went 'Sex is like math: Add the bed, Subtract the clothes, Divide the legs, and pray to God you don't Multiply!' Fuck, not helping. Looking Clay up and down from out of the corner of my eye, I thought maybe multiplying with him wouldn't be a terrible idea. Shit.

I had to focus. Math, eyes shut, right. "I was trying to work out how many more of these," I moved the hand closest to him, and fuck if it didn't brush against his crotch as I reached for a bag of random fucking coffee beans. Goddamn it, really?!

He hissed out a bit of air when my knuckles touched the zipper of his pants and I felt the blush flare up from my toes to my hairline. Shit, shit, shit. "That was unexpected," I couldn't look up at him, not while I was holding a hefty bag of coffee beans and after hearing the tone he used I imagined he was wearing a smug and mocking smile. Fucker. I swallowed down the fact that I'd FELT him. Through his pants, and I fucking imagined underwear of some sort, and fuck if I didn't want to try it without the extra barriers. Damn it.

"I was reaching for these," I held up the bag of beans. "It's not MY fault you were hovering." There, righteous indignation. That works on TV all the damn time, right? I felt him looking down at me, even if my eyes refused to meet his. My shame wouldn't allow it.

"Right, the math problem." He sounded as convinced as I had when my mom insisted that the Easter bunny was real, even as I asked her how he laid fucking eggs. "How many of-" his hand met mine where it was holding the bag of beans and I felt the blush grow hotter. Could you get heat stroke from your own blush? Asking for me. "These, do you usually have on hand?" Hand? Like the one you have tight against mine? Think, Charlotte, think.

Clipboard, fuck I nearly danced when I remembered it. Glancing down, without realizing that we were still holding the damn bag of fucking beans, I saw the control number and gave it to him. "By my account, Charlotte, you need ONE bag." Damn it. I felt hotter than ever, and now I couldn't decide if it was my face or other parts that were throwing off the most heat, his hand was still holding mine and the bag. "Any other math you want me to help with?" The mind is a torturous asshole, because mine flashed on that fucking 'problem' I'd considered before. Nope, not today.

I took a beat or five before I answered. My brain was overheating, my face was on fire, and please don't make me talk about my panties. Letting out a long breath, I forced another smile onto my face. "No, that was the hardest one."

And that did it, he chuckled and I really wished that the whole 'the floor is lava' thing was true, because then I could fucking die. "Oh, Charlotte, it's not nearly as hard as it can get." Damn it.