Mistakes Happen

By A. C. Williams

Sam snatched the steaming paper cup of black coffee off the counter. His palm crawled at the heat from the cup as he stepped outside. He set the coffee down carefully on the wrought-iron tabletop where legal pads and heavy historical tomes teetered in unstable stacks.

The barista was a loser.

The shop had the best coffee in San Francisco, but how much time did it take to pour a cup? The stupid girl took so long making his drink he’d been able to write half a page of notes before she called his name.

The moron probably can’t even flip burgers.

A soothing sensation shivered through him. Soft, wordless whispers at the back of his mind.

He growled under his breath and snapped the collar of his jacket irritably.

No, she’s an idiot, and I won’t take it back.

The psychic nudge grew more insistent, though not unpleasant. It was warm, a golden sensation of being poked in the brain.

His armor was an idiot too. A super-powered, telepathic, semi-sentient samurai idiot that apparently believed everyone in the world was equally important and had feelings or some kind of nonsense like that. Like a hall monitor in his subconscious.

Well Hinode could believe whatever it wanted to believe. As long as it kept its insipid opinions to itself.

Sam grunted and took a sip of his coffee.

He gagged as he swallowed a mouthful of grounds and fumbled the cup, black coffee splashing all over the scribblings on his legal pad.

Sam stood up so fast his chair crashed to the sidewalk. He threw his gaze toward the barista inside the cafe.

All he’d wanted was a nice cup of coffee while he finished his research notes on the wall carvings of the Takaida Cave Tombs in Japan.

He grabbed the coffee and stormed back inside the cafe.

A mild tugging sensation at the back of his mind rocked his equilibrium, and he swayed as he stepped through the cafe doors.

It was almost like Hinode’s big armored hands had fallen on his shoulders, patting consolingly.

Butt out, you useless hunk of tin!

Sam shoved the armor’s consciousness away and forged ahead.

Arguing with Hinode was a new thing, since he’d acknowledged the armor could communicate. Sure, giving Hinode access to his thoughts increased the armor’s power, which was bad news for the evil self-appointed emperor threatening the world, but now Hinode could bother him whenever it wanted, even when he wasn’t wearing it. He’d quickly discovered Hinode had an opinion about absolutely everything.

And Hinode’s opinion was always wrong.

Another telepathic nudge, which Sam ignored.

Something in his brain shifted—no other way to describe it—like a static electric shock had gone rippling through his mind.

He’d barely reached the counter, and a memory resurfaced.

Five years earlier. He’d been in the death throes of his dissertation. None of his professors gave a crap whether he succeeded or failed. None of the morons he lived with could even understand the importance of his thesis.

As always, he’d been on his own. So he’d helped himself to the prepared meal in the kitchen refrigerator. The container hadn’t been labeled. Nobody had claimed it. So if the food belonged to someone, it was their own fault.

Sam’s stomach clenched.

Don’t put that on me, you stupid can.

He paused near the counter.

Hinode flung the memory of Mia’s face to the forefront of his mind. Mia, the kindest, most loving, most beautiful woman he knew, worked tirelessly and never asked for anything in return. And Sam had eaten her lunch.

It could have wrecked her day. It should have. If Mia had been anything like him, it would have.

But it didn’t.

Mistakes happen. That’s what she’d said.

Sam eyed the barista. What if she’d been on her feet all day? What if some jerk she worked with stole her lunch and left her with nothing to eat?

Mistakes did happen, after all.

The warm telepathic arms wrapped around his shoulders again, and Sam felt like snarling.

Stupid Hinode.

Why did he get stuck with the touchy-feely armor? Why couldn’t he have gotten a surly, distant one like Kazan or Sora?

Hinode projected a mental image of patting him on the head soothingly.

I hate you.

The psychic hug tightened.

Sam groaned and slammed his coffee cup down on the counter, hot liquid inside splashing out to decorate his shirt sleeve. The barista’s wide eyes met his, and she squeaked in fear.

Not that he blamed her. He could be intimidating if he wanted to.

But did he want to?

He scowled.

Had that thought come from Hinode or from him? He couldn’t tell. And the fact that he couldn’t tell irritated him more than the tickling psychic laughter echoing at the back of his mind.

“My coffee is full of grounds,” he growled, shoving it toward the barista girl.

Her face went pale. “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.” She took the cup and dumped it out. “I’ll get you a new one right away. I’m so sorry.”

She fluttered quickly back and forth behind the counter, grabbing a new cup, filling it with fresh coffee, and double-checking it for grounds. She extended it toward him with a shaking hand.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears welled up in her huge dark blue eyes.

In that moment, she looked just like Mia.

Sam sighed heavily as he took the cup from her. “Mistakes happen. Don’t worry about it.”

Turning on his heel, Sam stalked back to the outside table. He settled in his chair and glared at the stains on his legal pad. He sipped the hot coffee and nodded.

They really did make the best coffee in San Francisco.

Hinode radiated warmth in his mind, almost like the armor was snuggling up against him.

Ugh.

I suppose you want me to thank you? Sentimental, ridiculous hunk of scrap.

Hinode hugged him tighter.

Sam drank his coffee.

Yeah. Fine. Thanks.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A.C. Williams is an author and entrepreneur who loves cats, country living, and all things Japanese. She’d rather be barefoot, and if she isn’t her socks will never match. A proud Hufflepuff, she takes her coffee with cream, her pizza with pineapple, and her stories with spaceships. Follow her travel adventures with Hermes the Frog on social media.

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