“I asked how long you’ve been coming here.”
“Since this place opened. That was . . . damn, I don’t know. Ten years ago? More than that? Their menu has evolved since then. They didn’t offer breakfast or lunch when they first opened. Just pastries.”
“I do like a good pastry. So.”
“So.”
Sandro waited for Eli to continue.
And waited.
Sipped his gingerbread latte.
And waited.
“Is there something specific you wanted to talk about?” Sandro prompted.
Eli didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “No, just . . . when Prinnie was my mentor, he’d come with a list of questions when we met up.”
Oh good. Sandro was failing already. “What kind of questions?”
“I don’t know.” Eli shrugged. “Just . . . getting to know you stuff.”
Eli waited expectantly. For someone who wanted to pick Sandro’s brain about how best to prepare for his interview with Bennett, he was surprisingly light on questions. Taking inspiration from his surroundings, Sandro said, “Tell me about your certificate program. What are you taking?”
“Ecological foundations of agroecology, which examines the . . . well, the ecological foundations of agroecology, largely from a biophysical perspective.”
Sandro blinked at him. “Sounds . . . interesting?”
“It is! One of my classes looks at the social, political, and economic elements of the global food system . . .”
Bennett shifted in his chair, catching Sandro’s attention. Bennett massaged his forehead with one hand; the other poked at his tablet with a stylus. His shoulders were bunched like they had always been before he’d leave for a study session for his contemporary film theory exam their junior year.
Sandro had made the group sandwiches for cram sessions. Christ, he’d forgotten all about that. Good ones too, pulled chicken or egg salad on ciabatta buns and cheesy buns with garlic aioli, apples, and arugula. Hell, he’d even chopped veggies and sent Bennett off with homemade dip and chocolate chip cookies. Because an overnight study session always needed cookies.
Bennett had returned to their apartment hours later with an empty Tupperware container, bags under his eyes, jitters from too much coffee, and kisses that he’d said were from his study group.
“Carl, Meg, and Arjun said to give you a kiss for the delicious snacks.” He pressed a kiss to Sandro’s lips, a second, a third. “Consider their thanks paid.”
“And how about you?” Sandro murmured, twining his arms around Bennett’s back. They were evenly matched in height, which he loved. “No kisses from you?”
Bennett’s smile was full of mischief. “You don’t need to make me sandwiches to earn my kisses. Cookies will suffice.”
“Ungrateful jerk,” Sandro teased before Bennett’s mouth landed on his again.
“Did you ever do a post-grad certificate?” Eli asked, drawing Sandro’s mind back into the present and his gaze off Bennett.
Sandro coughed out a laugh. “Uh, no. I graduated from college and never wanted to see another essay or exam ever again.”
“What’d you major in?”
“General studies.” Which had given him a firm foundation in absolutely nothing. But he’d been more focused on playing hockey.
“University of Michigan, right?” Eli asked. He took a sip of his flat white. “With Bennett Jackson?”
Sandro’s body flushed cold, and then hot. “What?”
“I was reading up on him. Wanted to know more about who’s heading up the docuseries. I read a profile about him that said he played hockey at the University of Michigan with, quote, ‘NHL star Sandro Zanetti of the Vermont Trailblazers.’ I didn’t realize you know each other. You didn’t even talk to him at the meeting today. Did you guys not get along when you played together?”
