Page 13 of Donovan's Men

I had no problem getting out of the wind that’d picked up in the half hour we’d spent out here, but I wasn’t completely clear why we were going somewhere else. Somewhere public.

Still, Donovan strode toward the coffee shop around the corner.

Tyson cocked his head at me, as if askingis this okay?

I gave a quick nod. Sure. Why not? Unconventional and all that.

As I entered the store, the scent of roasted coffee assailed me. I liked this chain well enough, although I wasn’t a huge coffee drinker.

This morning’s breakfast was a distant memory. I was one of those people with a high metabolism who had to eat a lot. My mother had assured me it’d slow down when I hit middle age and I wouldn’t be able to keep up the same pace of food consumption.

I’d waited for that time. It hadn’t arrived. Of course, I hadn’t hit middle age either. Or at least I hoped I hadn’t. I lived with the optimism I had another fifty years to go. Three of my four grandparents had lived well into their nineties. I intended to do the same.

“Doc?” Donovan met my gaze.

“What?”Doc?I gazed into his assessing stare. “Sorry, what?”

“You’ve got a PhD, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, yeah, soDoc. I asked what you wanted. You look peckish.”

“I am. Peckish. And no one calls meDoc.”

“Well, then I’ll be the first. You look like a vegetarian. Or vegan? They make a mean fake chicken sandwich.”

As I well knew—their beyond-meat chicken was actually quite good. “Uh, yes, that’d be great.” I considered. “What does a vegetarian look like?”

He laughed. “Like you. Like a professor with a sweater vest and glasses.” He winked. “Call it an instinct. Years of reading people. Oh, and being around a lot of actors who eschew meat.”

Which hadn’t really answered my question.

“And do you want tea with caffeine or without?”

“Peppermint would be perfect.” I wasn’t even going to ask how he knew I didn’t drink much coffee.

“You having stomach troubles? It’s been a pretty stressful day.”

Good God, apparently the man didn’t have a filter. I straightened. “I just like the taste. My stomach is rock solid. Although thank you for your concern.”

Tyson snickered.

Donovan pivoted to him. “Ham sandwich? Coffee? Black?”

“Because that’s what all cops eat?” Tyson shook his head, almost as if in disbelief. “Milk with two sugars.”

“Ah, a double-double. We could’ve gone there. There’s one just down the street—”

“This place is lovely.” Tyson scratched his scalp. “But I have to pay for myself.”

“Oh, I do as well.” I’d never considered that I wouldn’t be paying.

Yet before either of us could react, Donovan had all the orders placed and had tapped his card.

I made a mental calculation and realized I’d have to hand over the only bill in my wallet—a twenty. It’d cover the meal twice over, but at least I would be paying my own way.

Donovan glared as both Tyson and I reached for our wallets. “You can get it the next time.” The words came out as a bit of a growl.