I check my phone again. Another text from Garrett.
Please. Just five minutes. I need to explain about Melissa.
I delete that one too.
At 9:58, I hear the key card in the door.
Rodriguez comes in carrying two coffee cups and a bag with a logo I recognize. He’s wearing jeans and the gray sweater we bought, and his hair is windblown, cheeks slightly pink from the cold.
“Morning,” he says, setting everything on the table. “Got you coffee. And a maple donut.”
“You went to Tim Hortons.”
“I went to Tim Hortons and had a very confusing conversation about your coffee order.” He puts the donut on a napkin and passes it to me. “The woman asked if I wanted a double-double. I said I didn’t know what that was. She explained it’s two cream, two sugar. I said no, I need like... a double-double of a double-double.”
I blink at him. “So a four by four?”
“I don’t know! I just kept saying more cream, more sugar until the woman asked if I was okay.” He laughs sheepishly. “Pretty sure she thought I was having some kind of breakdown. But I got you what you like.”
“You terrorized a Tim Hortons employee for me.”
“I terrorized a Tim Hortons employee for you on Valentine’s Day.” He pushes the coffee toward me. “Sit. Eat. We have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“The kind where you trust me and don’t ask questions.” He grins. “Come on, JuJu. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
“You want a list?”
“Funny.” He’s already moving toward the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head one handed. I bite into the sugary sweetness of the pastry at the exact moment he exposes his entire back, and my mouth waters. From the donut obviously. “Twenty minutes. Wear something comfortable. Layers. And those boots you wore yesterday.”
He disappears before I can ask more questions.
My phone buzzes. Garrett again.
I know you’re getting these. Melissa told me what she did yesterday. I’m sorry. She was out of line.
I turn my phone face-down and take another bite of donut.
Not today. Today is whatever today is going to be. And I’m not letting Garrett ruin it.
Rodriguez emerges fifteen minutes later, freshly showered, hair still damp. “Ready?”
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“That’s because it’s a surprise.” He grabs his coat. “Come on. Trust me.”
I should probably push back. Ask more questions. Insist on a plan because that’s what I do, that’s who I am.
Instead I grab my coat and the blue scarf and follow him out.
We walk.It’s cold but not unbearable, and Rodriguez seems to know where he’s going. Front Street is busy with Friday morning commuters.
“Did you google this?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“Rodriguez.”
