“Remember, this girl does not like competition,” Ana reminds me.
I don’t know what to make of this comment.Celine is jealous of me because I spend time with my coworker doing our jobs?“If she likes him so much, she should ask him out. Or fetch her own items from storage instead of dumping it on my desk.” I roll my eyes and stretch my arms.
Ana shrugs.
I change the subject. “Speaking of asking people out, how are things with your ex? Or is Lucy not an ex anymore?”
Ana’s grin confirms the latter. We turn and jog back the way we came at a pace that allows Ana to give me the details of their latest exchanges and how this time it might stick. I love to hear her romantic optimism. I can’t help but feel a little envious, wanting someone of my own to gush over.
Before I know it, we’re back at the entrance to my apartment complex. It was a relatively quick mile, even with our brief stop. I could go another round. I’m no closer to figuring out who the mole is. The facts aren’t coalescing the way I would like. But I’m energized by the burn in my muscles right now. The taste of salt on my lips reminds me I’m sweating; my body is tired and exhilarated in equal measure.
Another loop could clear my mind further, but that is a dangerous exception to make on day one.
Ana waves and finishes her water bottle. “See you at the office.”
“Coffees are on me,” I call out as she walks out of the front gate.
“You know it,” she retorts.
I head inside to shower and get dressed for work. I love that no matter what today throws at me, I’ve already crossed off the hardest thing on my list. I leave my running shoes by the front door and head back out into the beautiful morning before the humidity and my newfound anxiety settle in.
24
CHARLIE
OK, coffee shops are popular on Fridays.It’s as though everyone else in Tampa had the same idea this morning.
This café is on the way to work and I’ve been meaning to try it ever since Ana told me they make “legit Cuban coffee – not just the type for tourists.” I owe her for getting up early to run with me, so procuring her favorite coffee in town is the least I can do.
The line is to the door, so I squeeze in as best as I can. A woman hurries past me on her way out, balancing two to-go containers of coffees. She appears frazzled; I hope she makes it to her car without the hot drinks toppling.
As if my thinking it has summoned this outcome, her tower begins to wobble. Those in front of me in line recoil, leaning away from the impending mess. A gentle hand lands on my shoulder and pulls me so I have to step to the side. The drinks fall and steaming coffee pools on the floor right where I was just standing. I look over at whoever it was that just saved me from scalding-hot splatter.
I turn and see Blaed, Blaed-from-the-bar, standing next to me.
“Hi,” I manage to breathe even in my state of mild shock. “Thank you,” I add quickly, as he removes his hand from my shoulder and smiles. Those green eyes lock on to mine.
My brain seems to catch up to everything that is happening. I look over at the woman who is desperately trying to clean up the coffee mess all by herself. No one else got out of line to help her. I can’t believe it! I leave the line and grab a pile of napkins from the stand in the corner.
The woman nods as we both dodge the steady stream of people still entering the café. A barista approaches with a dish towel and offers to refill the order. “Your friend told me you jumped in to help, so your order is on the house,” the barista tells me.
I’m confused. Helping doesn’t require a reward. And who is my friend?
I look up and see Blaed walking back from the counter. He must have alerted the staff. The woman confirms her order and I give mine before the barista heads back. I debated ordering the gluten-free coffee cake too. It makes me think of my dad, as it’s his favorite treat, one my mom and I would bake for him every year on his birthday. He asked for a gluten-free version once I started my low-inflammation diet. But two coffees on the house was enough. I didn’t want to abuse the offer.
I look around and spot Blaed at a corner table. He waves me over. “Thank you for getting help,” I say. “And for pulling me back.”
“And that big bug,” he adds with a smile. He gestures for me to sit with him while I wait.
I play along. “Yeah, seems I should just hire you as personal security. I have no known threats, but apparently Florida is full of bugs. Can’t be too safe.”
“My rates are steep,” Blaed counters, and the spark in his eyes tells me that, yes, we are indeed flirting. “The bugs here are out of control.”
“They weren’t nearly as bad in Eugene.”
Blaed is staring at me without blinking. I can’t read his expression.
“What? Do I have another bug on me right now?” I quickly check my arms.
