“Criminal charges?” I interrupt.
He shrugs. “It happens. Last year, one of the internists was charged with trafficking fentanyl. The police showed up to the hospital to arrest him.”
“Wow.” I guess it’s not actually that surprising. Doctors are human like anyone else.
“It’s unlikely to happen to me, though,” he quips. “Criminal charges, I mean. In case you were worried about spending the night at my condo.”
“Good to know.” He turns into the parking lot of his building. “You know, you could walk to work from here.”
“I often intend to,” he replies. “I just never manage to leave in time to do it.”
He parks in the underground garage, and we take the elevator up to his unit. He’s on the eighth floor, facing Lake Ontario, and the view is spectacular. In fact, the entire condo is spectacular, with huge windows and high ceilings.
And it’s immaculately clean. It feels like it could be a showroom for an upscale Scandinavian furniture store.
“I have a lady who cleans on Fridays,” Drew explains. It’s as though he read my mind, and he doesn’t want me to think he’s a neat freak.
“She does good work,” I remark, as my eyes sweep the room. There’s an abstract print hanging over the sofa that vaguely resembles a red elephant. I’m not a fan of abstract art in general, but there’s something striking about this elephant.
“Come on in,” Drew says, and I set down my backpack and slip off my shoes.
“What would you like for dinner?” he asks. “I thought we could order in.”
“Sounds great. I like pretty much everything.”
“Roti Palace?”
I nod. “I’ll have palak paneer and garlic naan. Thanks.”
“Got it.” He taps at his phone screen. “Do you want anything for dessert?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“You sure?” he asks. “I don’t have much here for dessert.”
“No secret stash of candy in your cupboard, huh?” I tease, but I already know the answer. Drew seems almost unnaturally disciplined; definitely not the type to keep a secret candy stash in his cupboard.
“No, but we could order some.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I have an emergency stash in my backpack.”
He grins as he finishes ordering and slips his phone back into his pocket. “Should be about forty minutes. Do you want anything to drink? I have Perrier or still water. Or milk, or herbal tea.”
“Perrier, please.”
He hands me a Perrier from the fridge. “Why don’t I show you the spare room?”
“Sure.” I pick up my backpack and follow him down the hall to what’s clearly his home office. There’s a sleek wooden desk under the window, and a bookcase along the adjacent wall. Unlike my dad’s home office, there are no framed university degrees on display. Instead, another abstract print hangs over the bookcase; this one reminds me of the ocean, all vibrant blues and greens.
“The couch pulls out,” Drew explains, gesturing to a gray pinstriped sofa. “I’ve never slept on it, but I’ve been told it’s pretty comfortable. Unless?—”
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” I interrupt, before he can offer to take the couch and give me his bed.
He nods and stacks the cushions beside the couch, then pulls it out into a bed. “I’ll grab some sheets.”
He disappears for a second, and I take the opportunity to look at his bookshelf. He’s got a mix of titles: a few medical texts, but mostly paperback novels. There’s Michael Connelly’s Lincoln Lawyer series, a couple Reacher novels, and a book of Salinger’s short stories.
“Feel free to borrow anything that looks interesting.”
