Ink and Ice, Erin McRae [primary phonics .txt] 📗

Zack: If you do.

Aaron frowned at his phone. Either Zack was pissed off at him, or was one of those odd creatures who precisely punctuated their text messages. Given the whole journalist thing, Aaron decided to assume the latter.

Aaron: Def. What time? I need to go home and shower, and I have to be back here at four to teach some of the little kids. There’s a cafe not too far from TCI, I’ll send the address... can meet you there at like two?

Zack: I’ll see you there.

Aaron hummed to himself and went back to looking for his socks.

FORTUNATELY FOR AARON, Charlotte had a class at Concordia that afternoon which meant he could get home and shower without offering her an explanation of his coffee date with Zack. If Katie had been askance at the idea, Charlotte was going to be downright appalled.

He took entirely too long deciding what to wear, given that Zack had already seen him in practice clothes and the rest of his wardrobe only provided two options: t-shirts and formalwear.

He finally picked the shirt with a fish skeleton emblazoned on it that Huy had brought back for him from Vancouver a couple of years ago, made sure his curls were the appealing side of messy, and headed back to his car.

Zack wasn’t there yet when Aaron got to the café, but that allowed Aaron to take his time catching up with his favorite barista before he settled in at a table by the window. There were exposed brick walls on two sides of the café, plus tin ceilings and lots of warm dark wood paneling. None of it was original; the building itself was maybe thirty years old. But Aaron liked the decor and was fond of the calm, workaday atmosphere. There was always at least one group of college students huddled over notebooks and laptops, and on Friday nights the café hosted a board game club. It was a frequent escape for the TCI skaters, and once the season started Aaron would have been sure to encounter at least one of his compatriots there. But with so few people back in town, the odds of running into anyone he knew were low.

He stirred honey into his tea as he people-watched out the window. The early afternoon sun was bright and very welcome; Aaron already missed the fresh air and sunshine of the islands.

Still, Saint Paul had its perks. Aaron watched as a deep blue Mazda crossover parked at the curb and Zack got out. The sight of his arms in a possibly too tight black t-shirt made Aaron sigh wistfully and wish that the rink was less cold or that Zack could tolerate it better.

He waved as Zack pushed open the door and didn’t think he was imagining it when Zack’s face lit up at the sight of him. A few minutes later Zack was sitting across from him, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and a grateful look on his face.

“I needed more caffeine,” he admitted.

“I’m not surprised.” Aaron took a sip of his tea.

“You mean after you made me go to the rink at fuck o’clock in the morning?”

“Basically.” Aaron had expected Zack to be somewhat more pissed about that—surely a typical human would have been. But maybe following inexplicable directives from subjects was just part of what journalists did.

“Anyway. Thanks for meeting me,” Zack said.

“Thanks for slipping me your number.”

“You handed me your phone. While your coach’s back was turned.” Zack sounded somewhere between horrified and in awe, and Aaron was flattered.

"Katie can be overprotective. That's not really what I mean, but..." Aaron trailed off, suddenly not sure what the appropriate or smart thing to say was. Aaron might have wanted this to be a coffee date with a cute guy, but Zack was a journalist and here to write about him. Assuming Aaron could be interesting enough.

Zack took a sip of his coffee. "If your life is anything like how my ass feels right now, your coach can be as overprotective as she wants."

Aaron laughed, nervous, shrill, and genuinely amused. He clapped a hand over his mouth. Game face, he reminded himself sternly.

"Sorry," Zack said, holding Aaron’s gaze. "I didn't mean to make that sound dirty."

Aaron shook his head and slowly lowered his hand. "It's fine. Skaters are..." He trailed off. There was nothing he could say that was both appropriate for a journalist’s consumption and that could be explained in under fifteen minutes.

"I'm not going to try to fill in the blank on that one," Zack said.

Aaron laughed again, started to answer, and stopped himself. "Before I make my life harder than it already is—"

"Is your life hard?"

Yes, and you’re not helping right now. Aaron waved the question off and kept going. "To be clear, what is the context of this coffee we're having?"

"I think I spent a solid hour cursing you out this morning. Coffee was the least I could do,” Zack swirled the dark liquid in his cup.

"So is this conversation happening for your article, or...?" Aaron asked.

Zack had raised his cup to his lips but set it down again. "Oh. No. This isn't on the record. Sorry. No wonder you’re not finishing your sentences.”

"But you can't like... forget what I've said.” Now Aaron was curious. “It's all going to show up somewhere, right?"

"I mean, I’m always trying to absorb the atmosphere for a thing.” Zack rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward slightly as if to emphasize his earnestness. “But I do try not to do things like that to people.”

Zack’s left arm was awash in colors that formed a full sleeve, dominated by a swirl of ink that looked like a cresting wave. It was inches from Aaron’s fingers. Lost in his own curiosity, he reached out to touch the crest of it. He could feel Zack’s pulse under his fingertips.

“Oh shit.” Aaron suddenly realized what he was doing and jerked his hand back. His cheeks burned. “I’m