Amelia shuddered as her attacker scrambled to his feet and hobbled away.

“You saved me,” she mumbled breathlessly.

Her casual appearance caught me off guard. I assumed the woman lived in a blazer. With her hair pulled back, her soft skin glowed under the streetlamp.

“It was nothing.”

“How can I ever thank you?” she asked.

“No thanks needed.” Last time she thanked me, a bastard restaurant manager shooed me away. Wasn’t going through that again, not even for a hot meal.

“I mean it. Who knows what that creep would have done to me? Thank you so much.”

"It's honestly not a big deal, lady."

Amelia threw her arms around my neck. I held my breath and pulled away. I didn’t like people touching me, let alone hugging me. I wished she’d let go.

"It’s freezing out here. Do you have someplace to go?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said over my shoulder. I walked away, leaving her near the street behind me. It was my night for the shelter, and if I didn’t go soon, they’d lock up, and I’d be locked out, stuck in the cold for another miserable night.

She jogged to catch up. "Hey! Wait up! There's gotta be something I can do for you?"

I paused and furrowed my brow.

"I mean it. Anything you want, it's yours," she promised.

Damn, this lady was persistent.

“I need to go. I have somewhere to be.”

“How about a coffee? Then I can take you wherever you need to go?” Desperation lingered on her face.

I ran my fingers through my beard and pondered her offer. The shelter closed in forty-five minutes. And a coffee did sound nice. Maybe it’d warm me up?

“Fine.”

Amelia smiled. “Know of any coffee shops around here?”

“I think there’s an all-night cafe around the corner,” I grumbled.

“Perfect!”

We walked in silence, and I noticed a large manila envelope poking out of her oversized purse. “What are you doing out here so late, anyway?”

Her cheeks reddened. “I needed a file from work.”

“On a Friday night?”

“Yeah, I wanted to get a head start on some projects for work.”

“You work a lot?”

“Way more than I should,” she admitted.

“Don’t you have a family?”

Amelia nodded. “I have a son, Charlie.”

“No rich husband?”

“Divorced,” she said flatly.

I studied her shadow upon the pavement and cleared my throat. "So, who watches your kid when you’re working?”

“Well, he goes to school during the day, and then I have a babysitter who usually picks him up after school and watches him until I get home.”

“Poor kid.”

Amelia paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I felt grateful for the dark ambiance as I blushed this time. “I only meant he probably misses you. It sounds like you work a lot.”

“I try to set an example for him: if you work hard, you can take care of your family.”

“Well, work hard enough, and you won’t see your family.”

I thought back to all the nights my mother put my dad’s dinner in the microwave as he called to say he’d be late. He worked a lot, too, and I missed him all the time.

We approached the coffee shop, and I peered through the windows, noticing two groups of hipsters inside the cafe. My palms moistened, and my heart pounded. These were the kinds of kids who threw coins at me while I slept.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want any coffee.”

“What? Why?” Amelia asked, puzzled.

“I need to go. See you around.”

She followed my gaze into the cafe and nodded. “How about I bring a couple of coffees and muffins out here?”

That might be okay, I thought.

“Sure. I guess.”

She smiled and hurried inside to place the order. While I waited, I took refuge on a worn bench beside the cafe. It wasn’t as nice as my bench, but it’d be okay for now. My stomach rumbled as I realized I’d forgotten what a muffin or a donut tasted like; it’d been years since I had one.

The bell on the door jingled, and Amelia stepped out of the cafe with two paper cups in tow and a bag stuffed to the brim. “Okay, I’ve got two blueberry muffins, two apple cinnamon pastries, and a double chocolate brownie.”

“You trying to give me diabetes?”

Her face turned white as a ghost. “I’m sorry, I never thought—”

“I’m kidding,” I interrupted. “Those all sound fine.”

Her shoulders slackened as she handed me a coffee, the cup warming my hands at the first touch. I sipped the coffee in silence and closed my eyes to enjoy the liquid as it heated up my body a degree or two.

“So, tell me a little more about yourself,” she asked.

“There’s not much to tell,” I replied, crumbs from the muffin pouring out of my mouth.

“How long have you been out here?” She hesitated before she finished the question.

“Six,” I said.

“Years?” Her mouth dropped agape.

I nodded.

“Wow,” was all she mustered.

“Have you tried to get a job?”

These were the types of questions I was all too familiar with living on the streets. People saw me and assumed I was lazy or addicted to crack. They couldn’t be any further from the truth.

“I’ve tried, and I had a few.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

While it seemed as though I was a participant on a 20 Questions game show, I sensed the genuine tone reflected within her inquiries.

“I’ve got some demons,” I whispered.

She nodded politely. “I know all about those.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. “Yeah?”

“My father served. He never came home the same each tour.”

“Yeah. War changes a person. So, tell me, why do you work so much? Especially if you’ve got a kid at home.”

“Growing up, my father was tough on me. His work ethic was like nothing I’d ever seen before, even to this day. From a very young age, he instilled the same morals his parents taught him. I never wanted to disappoint him, so I worked my ass off in school,” she explained.

“He proud of you now?”

“I’d like to think he would be,” she trailed off.

At that moment, a part of my wall crumbled. Amelia lost her dad, too. With all of our differences, we finally shared one thing in common. Each of us lost a crucial puzzle piece to our soul. Neither of us could be whole again.

“I work hard to please him, even though he’s not around. Pathetic, I know.”

“What about your ex?” I asked, changing the subject.

She sighed. "He's about to get remarried to his soul mate."

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Well, our divorce was a good thing. It needed to happen for both our sanity, but it hurts to know he’s moved on.”

“Haven’t you?”

“Parts of me have, but I think I’m still hung up on missing the idea of love rather than missing him in my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love again. You ever been in love?”

“Love is for the weak,” I said.

The moon rested at the zenith of the night sky. The partying crowds continued to crawl and dominate the streets, and all our baked goods were gone.

“I should go now.”

“Okay,” Amelia said. “I’ll order a Lyft. Where do you need to go?”

“Homeless shelter,” I mumbled.

She didn’t flinch, but instead typed away on her phone and nodded after a minute. “You know, I’ve been thinking of volunteering at the shelter?”

“Why?” I scoffed.

“My boss asked that I pick somewhere to volunteer. The attorneys are required to participate in the community.”

“But why the homeless shelter?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” Sourness devoured my attitude.

“Sure, but then how would I have the opportunity to get to know you better?”

The Lyft car pulled up and honked its horn. Amelia smiled as she climbed into the car first. Deep down, a magnetic force drew me to her. Maybe she wasn’t a stuck-up rich girl like I originally thought. Maybe I judged her too soon.