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"This is where you want to speak?" I glance around the bustling cafeteria located on the ground floor of the hospital. Many tables are occupied by doctors in scrubs; others by nurses in uniform. Still other tables have people in street clothes. Either staff, or people who have come to visit patients. The buzz of voices fills the air.
"You have a problem?" she retorts.
"I know what you’re trying to do."
"Oh, so now you’re trying to read my mind?"
"You think it’s safer to have this conversation in a public setting. That’s why you brought me here, didn’t you?"
"I brought you here because I heard the coffee here is good."
I shoot her a disbelieving look. "At a hospital cafeteria?"
"Don’t mock it until you try it." She walks over to the buffet counter and places a salad on her tray. I pick up my own tray, then select a plate of pasta. By the time we reach the payments counter, I’ve added some fruit and a slab of chocolate cake.
"That all you’re having?" I glance at her tray which still has only the salad on it, in addition to two cups of coffee.
She gives me a withering look. "You have a problem with it?" She reaches for her handbag, but I lean over and tap my card on the machine on the counter.
"I can pay for my own food," she says in a hard voice.
"Too late." I smile at the cashier, who smiles back at me.
“You look familiar.” She scans my features.
"It happens sometimes. I have the kind of face that people seem to think they’ve seen before."
She continues to stare at me as I watch the machine process the charge, then her face lights up. "Oh, I know who you are: Hunter Whittington." Her smile widens. "You were so good on Newsnight last night on the BBC.”
"Thank you.”
The machine spits out the receipt which she hands over to me. I turn to leave, but she pulls a strip of blank paper from the register, grabs a pen, rounds the counter, and thrusts them at me. "Please, can I have an autograph? It’s for my son."
"Your son knows who I am?" I frown.
"No, but you’re famous, aren’t you?"
Next to me, Zara snorts. A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I place my tray on the counter and take the pen and paper napkin from the woman.
"I’ll grab us a seat." Zara turns and walks away. I can’t take my gaze off of the sway of her hips.
"Are you two dating?" the woman asks.
"Can I pay for my food please?" An irate voice pipes up behind me.
"So sorry for holding you up." I quickly dash off my signature and hand the paper and pen back to the woman.
"Excuse me." The woman opens her mouth to speak, but I grab my tray, then spin around on my heels and head toward where Zara is seated. I slide into the seat opposite her, facing away from the crowd, and once again, glance at my full tray and the lone salad bowl on hers.
"You sure you don’t want to share some of my food?"
She slides a cup of coffee in my direction. "Very sure."
I glance at the coffee then back at her. "Really?"
She inclines her head. "Don’t you trust me?"
