During our many chats, I’d learned she was a retired nurse who had taken to volunteering a few months earlier. She mostly walked around telling everyone how awesome they were doing while handing out water, sports drinks, and on more than one occasion homecooked brownies. Not to brag, but also to brag, it was a well-known fact that I was her favorite.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the water bottle and making quick work of twisting off the cap and lifting it for a long drink.
“No problem at all, kiddo.” She walked over to a stack of mats against the wall and hoisted herself to sit on top. “Seeing you each week is always a good reminder for me to take a break. Oh, that reminds me. Next week, I’m making another batch of those chocolate drizzle Rice Krispies Treats. Would you like me to bring you another pan?”
See? Totally her favorite.
I arched an admonishing eyebrow. “Are you going to let me pay you this time?”
“Sure,” she chirped.
“Wait. Let me rephrase. Are you going to let me pay you this time and not sneak it back into my purse on my way out?”
“Oh, then, no.” She winked. “You want ’em or not?”
I groaned as I pushed up to my feet. “Of course I want them, Linda. Nobody in their right mind says no to your culinary perfection.”
“Just for that, you’re getting extra chocolate drizzle.”
And just for that, I was going to have to get creative when it came to hiding money in her back pocket like a reverse robbery. I had her phone number. Surely she had a Venmo or something set up.
“You’re too good to me.” I stretched my hands above my head and leaned from side to side. As much as I hated to admit it, John was right. I always felt a little stronger the next day.
She smiled. “I try.”
I walked over to my bag and picked my phone up. Aaron had already texted me three times asking me if I was on my way yet. It could be said I didn’t have the most punctual track record when it came to our weekly coffee dates—or in general. But today, I had an entire weekend of Bowen Michaels to fill him in on and only an hour between his meetings. I couldn’t afford to be late. I still wasn’t positive the timing was right to tell him, but after I’d stayed the night at Bowen’s, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep putting it off.
I typed out a quick On my way and then started collecting my stuff.
“I have to head out. But next week, it’s me, you, a pan of Rice Krispies Treats with extra chocolate drizzle, and forty bucks, right?”
She shook her head. “Get out of here with that nonsense.”
I hooked my bag over my shoulder. “Okay, okay, fine. Fifty bucks.”
She rolled her eyes and shooed me with her hands. “You better stop before I change my mind.”
I squeaked at the threat she would never follow through with and zipped my lips closed. With one last grin, I jogged to the door.
“Later, Remi!” John called from across the gym.
I lifted two fingers in a peace sign before busting out of there.
It wasn’t a long drive, but I was still ten minutes late. The expression on Aaron’s sourpuss face when I walked into the café made it seem like I’d left him there for the better part of a decade.
He glared at me as I hurried over in a pair of yoga pants and an off-the-shoulder cropped sweatshirt I’d thrown on over my tank top. I sank down into the chair across from him and focused on his forehead. “You do know that’s the face that causes those wrinkles you’ve been bitching about.”
His eyes flashed wide, and he rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “So it’s your fault I suddenly look a hundred years old.”
I lifted the latte he’d bought me and clicked my paper cup with his. “I plead the Fifth.”
He moved his fingertips to his nonexistent crow’s feet. “Does the Fifth cover my antiaging cream?”
“Psh. Don’t act like you don’t already use mine.”
That finally earned me a smile, even if he looked away so I wouldn’t see it.
“Don’t be mad,” I said. “I really did leave when I texted you. I got a call while I was in the parking lot. I’m sorry for making you wait.”
His gaze came back to mine, a brilliant white smile splitting his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m just giving you shit.” He leaned in close. “The hot barista gave me her number.”
I couldn’t help it. I immediately flicked my gaze to the counter.
“Stop looking,” he hissed.
Which honestly is the worst possible thing you can say to a person in that situation. Because it made me look back at him before my brain forced my gaze back to her. And when her eyes made contact with mine mid-visual seizure, I made it even worse by squinting and staring up at the menu over her head as if I didn’t already have a drink in front of me.
