Chapter 7

Gabby couldn't understand what Sam had achieved in just ten minutes.

Sam said expressionlessly, "Do you know how the cat died?"

She hesitantly replied, "I'm sorry."

"Just keep your mouth shut now that you've got the money," he added.

Miranda showered after arriving home. She decided to read two research papers before bed. The moment she sat down, she received a WhatsApp message from Sam: "You left your gloves in my car." He then sent a photo of a pair of gloves—the ones she'd worn that day.

Miranda recalled taking them off because the car had been warm enough. Sam had then placed them aside. She'd completely forgotten to retrieve them before leaving.

"Will you be free to meet up? I'll bring the gloves to you," he messaged.

Miranda replied, "Can you give me your address? I'll send someone to pick them up."

Sam responded, "The area I live in doesn't allow delivery people. How about this? Let's pick a time, grab coffee, and I'll return your gloves. I recently started my MBA program at Bedford College. You did your undergraduate studies there too. If it's alright with you, could you show me around campus so I can get familiar with the place?"

Miranda would have refused if Sam had simply offered to return her gloves or treat her to a meal. She felt they didn't know each other well enough for such gestures. However, he'd mentioned needing a favor. It was her fault for forgetting her gloves, and she felt uneasy that Sam had gone to the trouble of bringing them to her.

Since Sam needed assistance, and she could help, she agreed. "Alright."

Sam replied, "I'm free next Friday at 11:00 a.m. Does that work for you?"

Miranda sent an "okay" emoji.

On the agreed-upon day, Sam parked and walked to the coffee shop, located on a street near Bedford College. The shop, owned by someone with excellent taste, boasted an aesthetically pleasing interior that appealed to young people. Consequently, it was full of students, even on a Friday.

Sam found a window table and sat down. Miranda arrived a few minutes later. A waiter approached and gave them menus as soon as she sat. A slow, sentimental ballad played softly on an old record player. Sam ordered an iced Americano; Miranda, a latte.

"Your gloves," he said, handing her a brown paper bag.

Miranda took the bag. "Thank you."

Sam looked around. The aroma of coffee beans filled the air. The temperature was comfortable. "Do you come here often?"

Miranda replied, "Sometimes."

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, they could see a river, frozen over from the winter. Bare branches hung over it, lightly dusted with snow from the previous night. The scene seemed peaceful and calming.

Sam studied Miranda's expression, then smiled faintly. "The location is good, and the music is great."

Miranda stirred her coffee, listening to the song. "That's Miles Davis jazz from the 90s. Not many people know this classic song anymore."

Miranda said curiously, "You seem well-versed in everything."

"I may be well-versed in many things, but I'm not skilled enough to be called a professional in any of them," Sam shrugged.

Miranda recalled Calvin mentioning that Sam's mother was a famous musician, but she didn't ask further questions.

After finishing their coffee, Sam stood. "Let's go."