Chapter 7
Evan
I still couldn’t get last night’s conversation out of my mind. When I woke up this morning, I’d taken a hot shower, and now I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed, teeth brushed, and cologne on, hoping it wouldn’t be too much of a shock when I attempted to be nice to Bianca.
I stood outside her bedroom door, which was brave or stupid, I hadn’t determined which one, and knocked.
“Yeah?” I heard her call.
I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. I felt warm. Was I sweating?
“What?” I heard her yell.
“Ah, just wanted to let you know that I’m going to go out and grab a coffee. I thought you might like to join me. No pressure, though.”
When she said nothing, I backed away from her door and went to put my shoes on when her door opened. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see her standing there in leggings and an oversized Boston State University sweatshirt, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah, I mean, we’re living together for the next however many months, and I have been kind of a dick, so…thought we could try for a fresh start or whatever you’d like to call it.”
Bianca stood there, looking at me, probably trying to figure out if I meant the invite or not.
“Can you give me five minutes?” she finally asked.
“Sure,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.
I was sitting in the living room thumbing through my hockey magazine when Bianca appeared. She’d switched out her sweatshirt for a T-shirt and a denim jacket and wore a pair of white sneakers.
“Ready.”
I stood up, making my way to the door.
“We’ll walk. The coffee shop is only ten minutes from here,” I said, opening the door, stepping aside to allow her to go first.
It was a warm morning for late September. The moment we left the building, I turned left, leading the way, while Bianca walked behind me. We walked in silence, finally coming up to the coffee shop that was tucked between my favorite Thai restaurant and a dry cleaner.
“So, I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but what prompted this olive branch?” Bianca questioned as we stepped inside. “Did my father threaten you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. It didn’t surprise me she’d think that.
“No, your father didn’t threaten me. This was all on me.”
Bianca gave me a shocked look.
“I guess miracles happen,” she said, smiling softly. “Oh, this place is adorable.”
I smiled, taking a deep breath, absorbing the scent of coffee and cinnamon.
I’d found this coffee shop when I’d gone out for a run shortly after moving here.
I’d quickly fallen in love with the mismatched furniture and the exposed brick wall, giving the place a vintage look that I loved.
I looked up at the chalkboard menu, squinting to read the script font while a woman in front of us placed her order.
I looked over at Bianca as she scanned the menu, her lips moving slightly as she read. I’d noticed that when she was concentrating on something, she’d move her lips slightly and then bite her bottom lip.
“What is good here?” she asked, still studying the board.
“Depends. I know you like coffee, but do you like specialty coffees or just plain black?”
“I love all coffee, but normally only drink specialty coffee as a treat.”
“Okay, then skip anything that has over three adjectives in the name. The Americano is solid, and if you like cold brew, this place has one of the best. The seasonal drinks are all like a dessert in a cup, but if that is what you’re in the mood for, then go for one of those.”
She looked back at the board, once again chewing on her bottom lip.
“What do you get?” she questioned.
“What I normally have at home. Black coffee, medium roast. What can I say? I’m boring.” I winked.
“Nah, you’re practical. There is a difference.”
When it was our turn at the counter, a young girl who couldn’t have been more than seventeen smiled.
“What can I get you folks?”
“Go ahead.” I nodded to Bianca.
“Medium Americano and a blueberry muffin, please.”
The girl behind the counter nodded and then turned to me.
“Large black coffee, medium roast,” I added.
“Anything to eat?”
“No, thanks.”
“Will that be together or separate?”
Immediately, I reached for my wallet. “Together, I invited her so…”
“Oh no. I can pay for my order,” Bianca said, opening the zipper on her clutch, pulling out a twenty.
“I know you can, but since I am trying to be less of a dick, let me do this.”
Bianca hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, but I am getting the next one.”
“Deal.”
I handed over my credit card, feeling somewhat shocked that she’d implied there would be a next coffee date.
I waited for the coffees while Bianca grabbed us a table over by the window, and once they were ready, I carried everything over on a tray, sliding it onto the table. Immediately, Bianca reached for her coffee, holding the cup between her hands, warming them.
I realized now as we sat here that I sucked at small talk and I did not know how to continue. She looked at me and shyly smiled.
“So, how are you settling in? Room and apartment okay?” I asked.
She tore off a piece of muffin and nodded. “It’s good, bigger than the place I shared with my roommate in Boston. Quieter too, and oh, and the water pressure in that shower is incredible.”
“Yeah.” I coughed. “That was non-negotiable when I was searching for a place. I grew up with shitty water pressure. Never again.”
Bianca let out a laugh. “My childhood bathroom had two settings. Scalding or frozen, there was no in-between. So, it’s nice to know if I run a bath, I’m not getting a surprise each time.”
“Ours was a sad little trickle. Almost as if the house was crying,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Where did you grow up? I know you went to Boston University, but…”
“Right here. A different place than where my father lives now. What about you?” she said, ripping off another piece of her muffin.
“A small town in British Columbia. I’d tried to stay and get drafted by the Vancouver Dominators, but when the Dragons called, I took the call and moved.”
“Do you miss it?”
I thought for a moment. “No, not anymore. This is where I belong now.”
I could see another question was on the tip of her tongue when suddenly there was a tremendous crash. We both turned and looked to see the young barista behind the counter looking down at the floor, mortified.
“It’s okay! I’m alright,” she announced. “Guess gravity wins today.” She shrugged.
I looked over at Bianca, who sat there, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. I couldn’t help but grin myself as I watched the young girl hop over whatever she had dropped to grab a mop.
“Oh, that poor girl,” Bianca said as I turned my attention back to her.
I met her eyes across the table. Perhaps the guys were right. Maybe do-overs were possible, and the rocky start we’d had was now behind us.
“So, what made you want to be a trainer? Oh, and before you say it was your father, I am asking about you. What made you decide on this career?”
Bianca looked at me, surprised.
“What is it?” I questioned.
“People don’t normally ask me that. They just assume it was what my father wanted.”
“Well, people rarely put as much effort into something when external pressure pushes them into a career choice. So I figured there must be something behind the choice.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
She set her coffee down and placed her hands in her lap, just like she did in the training room when she was speaking with someone.
“Marcus Grant.”
“What?”
“You know who he is, right?” Bianca asked, looking at me a little confused.
“Of course I know who he is. It was a shame what happened to him.”
“It was. I was involved with him for a bit, unbeknownst to my father, and I saw his injury firsthand.
I also watched his career die because of how they mishandled not only the injury portion but also the mental health capacity.
It bothered me to see someone with so much promise lose something so important to him. I decided I wanted to change that.
“I learned quickly that I loved understanding how the body and brain worked together. How the body moved and what you had to do to make a body stronger, before and after an injury, and exactly what happens when things break down. When I graduated and started working in the field, I found it so satisfying to help someone rebuild, watching them go from injured to whole again. Or at least whole-er.”
“Whole-er? Is that a technical term?” I questioned.
“Yes, absolutely. We covered it in year three.” She smiled.
I couldn’t help but smile at the way her eyes lit up.
“I take it you are good at it? The whole rebuilding thing?”
“One of the best. I graduated at the top of my class.”
“I guess you must be, otherwise your father never would have brought you in.”
“My father cares about people, about his team. May not seem like it sometimes, especially the way he carries on, but the whole Marcus Grant situation changed him too. He had just signed on as head coach for the Dragons the year that happened.”
We both fell into a comfortable silence, sipping our coffees, watching out the window as people walked by, some in a hurry to get where they were going, others just taking their time.
“Okay. I have an important question,” Bianca said suddenly. “What’s your secret coffee order? The one you’d never admit to anyone, even your teammates?”
I chuckled. “What makes you think I have one?”
“Because everyone has one.”
I couldn’t help but feel heat creep up the back of my neck because she was right; I had one.
“Come on, Callahan, confess.”
“I’m trusting you with this information, so if someone finds out, I’m coming after you. Sometimes, and only sometimes, I get a vanilla latte with extra vanilla.”
Bianca smiled and then let out a giggle. “I knew it. I knew you seemed like a secret vanilla latte guy.”
“Okay, if we are sharing shameful coffee secrets, what’s yours?”
“Pumpkin spice, extra whipped cream with loads of cinnamon on top.”