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“Got you your favorite,” he says.
I didn’t even notice the tall mug of latte, the art on top looking like a bleeding heart. “Oh no…”
“Vanilla latte, extra shot of espresso. And, just in case.” He pushes a tiny cup across the table toward me. “A double extra shot of espresso.”
“I won’t be able to pass if I’m shaking like a chihuahua,” I chuckle and select the tiny cup first.
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Well, good thing I’ve arranged for the requisite carbs.” He hands me a pastry bag. I don’t even need to open it to identify what’s inside, my favorite croissant, pistachio.
“What do I owe you?” I ask, already knowing his answer.
“Don’t mention it.”
Pretty much ever since we met, Cole has picked up the tab. And now that he’s in his second year of residency, he acts like he’s rolling in it.Although, for the hours he works, it’s exploitation of labor.
“It’s the least I can do after you stayed up late running through flashcards with me,” I say with a smile.
Cole shakes his head. “Seriously, don’t mention it. You don’t need to worry about anything else today. Just the exam.”
“You’re the best, Cole. Seriously.”
He grins and shrugs. “I mean…”
“Living up to your name: Cole ‘Modesty’ Reynolds.”
“No, no…” Cole says with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s Cole Humility Reynolds. There’s nobody humbler than me.”
I laugh out loud, tipping my head back onto the cushioned vinyl bench. For a moment, I almost forget about the impending doom of my anatomy exam.
“How late were you up?” he asks, eyeing me.
I pour the espresso into the latte and raise the steaming hot mug to my lips. “Three,” I mumble into the mug.
“Hm?”
I tilt the mug back further so it’s more muffled. “Three o’clock.”
I know he would have continued interrogating me if his phone didn’t start vibrating on the table. Cole snorts as he reaches to pick it up. “You’re unbelievable,” he continues, raising the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
I tear off a piece of croissant and nibble it while he talks to whoever is on the other end of the phone. Ever since he started his residency, Cole answers his phone no matter what, without even checking the caller ID. Who does that? It’s practically insane. Who doesn’t screen their calls in this age of Terminator-style robo-calls?
“Wait… slow down… slow down. What?” his amiable expression turns into a confused frown.
I watch his eyes intently as the color drains from his face.
Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Chapter 2
Tyson Reynolds
Myfitnesswatchbeeps,marking the end of my run with a new time record. The number makes me smile. I pull off my shirt and use it to wipe the sweat off my brow, taking a moment to catch my breath as the sun comes up over the Schuylkill River. In typical Philadelphia winter form, it’s more a blob of muted orange snuffed behind the overcast sky than anything else. My morning run on the Riverwalk is a time to center myself, focus on my goals, and prepare for the day ahead. Pushing back the strands of hair from the front of my face, I spare a nod for a woman in tight black spandex as she power-walks past. Her responsive smile is more than a little flirty, and her eyes roam over my bare chest, lingering on my pecs. If it were any other time, I’d get her number. She’s cute in that gym-bunny sort of way, but nothing is enticing enough to make me want to sacrifice my precious personal morning routine.
It’s only a short walk home from here, but I need to cool down, so I take a detour to a nearby café that sits alongside the river. At this hour, the place is empty, except for the barista, who is stacking cups next to the espresso machine. It’s a sleek modern place, all glass windows, trendy plants, and some of the strongest coffee I’ve found in the city.
“Hot, black, large.” I tap my credit card against the machine and step back to wait for my coffee. The barista works in silence, which I appreciate, only mumbling a thank you when he spots his tip. I’m not here for conversation, not before coffee, anyway.
