Self

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Chapter 70

“Sorry.”

“You took the cash. Now, zip it.”

Back at home, Yara showered and settled in to review a couple of papers before bed.

However, before she could start, her phone buzzed with a message from Shane.

[Shane: You left your gloves in my car]

He also sent a picture of the gloves.

The very ones she had worn that day.

That was when Yara remembered. The car’s heater had been blasting, and she had peeled off her gloves without thinking. Shane had grabbed them and tossed them aside.

Then, she had forgotten about them when she left.

[Shane: Should we meet so I can return your gloves?]

Yara pondered for a second, then texted back.

[Yara: Can you drop me an address? I’ll send someone to fetch them.]

[Shane: Nope. Delivery folks can’t get into my complex]

[Shane: Let’s do this–let’s grab a coffee, and I’ll hand over your gloves. I’m brushing up on my MBA at Bellmere University. You went there for undergrad, right? If it’s not a hassle, maybe you could show me around and help me get the lay of the land.]

Yara would not usually say yes to the meeting if Shane offered to return her something or invite her for a meal.

She did not think she and Shane were at that stage yet.

However, he was asking for a favor, and she had forgotten her gloves. She would make him go out of his way to return it.

Since she felt a bit sheepish, and it was something she could easily do…

[Yara: Okay.]

[Shane: Next Friday’s good for me. How’s eleven in the morning for you?]

Yara sent an emoji for okay. She had no complaints.

The day they had agreed upon arrived.

Shane pulled into the parking lot before going to the coffee shop.

Nestled on a quaint street a stone’s throw from Bellmere University, the shop was a hit among the hip: crowd, thanks to an owner who knew precisely what vibes the young folks needed. Even on a Friday, place buzzed with students.

He snagged a cozy window seat.

Yara breezed in minutes later, and the waiter was right on cue with the menus.

the

Old–school tunes spun from a retro record player, the kind of mellow ballads with a voice that made her think of chic cafes and lazy afternoons.

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Shane went for an Iced Americano and Yara, a creamy latte.

“Your gloves.”

They were neatly wrapped in a craft paper bag.

Yara took them with a smile. “Thanks.”

Shane took in the scene–the coffee’s rich scent wafting through the air, the just–right temperature–it was the definition of chill. “You hang out here a lot?”

Yara nodded. “Now and then.”

The window offered a river view, a sheet of ice in the winter chill, with willow branches draped along the bank like frosty fingers.

A bad day could turn around with some time on that riverside bench.

Shane caught her look and grinned. “Great view, killer soundtrack.”

Yara played with her coffee, listening to him say, “This is Miles‘ jazz from the ‘90s. It’s a gem, but it’s like a secret these days.”

Yara raised an eyebrow. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia, huh?”

“Just know a little about a lot, but I’m no expert,‘ he replied with a playful shrug.

Yara’s mind flickered to something Zachary had let slip once–Shane’s mom was a music legend.

However, she left it at that, no prying.

Their cups empty, Shane stood and said, “Ready to roll?”