Page 27 of Full Contact

He stood and straightened the spare chair beside his, squaring it to the table. Niko, his boyfriend, waited near the doorway in work clothes, a pale trace of sanding dust caught at one cuff. They were collecting a piece of furniture after practice. Rafe had told me when we booked the interview, insisting on allowing enough time for traffic.

“I had lunch,” Rafe was saying as I joined them.

“That was before practice.”

“I can lift a table.”

“I’d also like you to survive the drive.”

Niko handed him something wrapped in foil. Rafe opened it, and the smell of toasted bread reached me.

“There’s another half,” Niko said, catching my glance.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at me for a second, then took the second parcel out of the bag and handed it over. It was still warm.

“Thank you.”

Back at my desk, I ate the sandwich over a napkin while reading a season-preview request. It was a good media outlet, with a professional ask, including one hopeful paragraph wondering whether Rafe and Niko might sit down together, just this once.

I replied that Rafe was available to discuss hockey, thanked them for their interest, and closed the email.

Trier appeared in my doorway with a coffee in each hand.

“You’re reviewing a calendar,” he said. “You’ll need this.”

He set one cup beside my keyboard, then moved it slightly farther from my elbow before letting go.

“Thank you.” I finished saving the schedule.

Trier’s jeans fit snugly across his thighs. Then he sat down, and the desk was in the way.

I sipped the coffee. It had a small amount of milk and no sugar. It had cooled enough to drink comfortably. I took another sip, tasting the coffee this time, then looked at him.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve seen you make coffee.” He went back to his phone.

I’d watched Trier in meetings for the past eleven years. I knew which requests made him fold his arms. I also knew he answered rookie questions completely and reporter questions accurately.

Apparently, somewhere in the same eleven years, he’d watched me put milk in my coffee.

He’d watched closely enough to know I’d drink it right away, too. The cup arrived ready, no waiting and no adjustment.

I caught myself drafting a statement. The department confirms it was a cup of coffee. The director thanks the organization for its concern and remains fully operational.

It needed another line for the skeptics. I didn’t have one.

I opened the schedule.

“Anna’s all set for the road-trip shoot,” he said. “You’ve confirmed with Priya?”

I had to look at the screen to remember what we’d confirmed.

“Yes. She’s confirmed.”

“Is that a difficult day?”