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A thick sheet of ice enveloped the world overnight, but by mid-morning, it’s thawed and soggy again. Peter gazes across the coffee shop, trying to keep his eye out for Valorie without making all the people between himself and the door nervous.
Valorie is late.
At least, he hopes she’s late and hasn’t run off with his fifteen-thousand-dollars. Peter pounds three coffees in the hour he waits, quickly regretting the decision. He lets his gaze break from the door in search of a bathroom. He rises to abandon his post, and she sneaks in. The light from the door’s reflection moves along the wall and Peter turns to find her pulling the handle so gingerly that the bell above her hardly utters a tinkle.
Peter extends his hand to greet her. When she reaches toward him, it isn’t to clasp his palm the way he expects. Instead, she twists his wrist and slaps a cold steel cuff on him.
“What the hell?” Peter tries to back away. His breath quickens, and he searches the faces around them for Dougy or Mac. They’ve figured him out. It’s all over.
The short, thin chain of the handcuff glints at him merrily as it prevents his escape. Valorie leans in and whispers, “I couldn’t walk around with all that money in an envelope. Had to add a little flair.”
Peter traces the length of chain, surprised when it ends in a silver briefcase. The banker places the case on the small table and turns it so the combination locks are visible. Her breath fills his ear as she whispers, “Five-nine-three.”
The chair skips across the floor when Peter pushes it against the wall. He perches on its edge, his panic transforming into excitement. He glances around to make sure no one is watching. His fingers scroll the combination into the lock. Valorie drags a chair to his side and they peer at the silver case together.
Springing open, two clasps let out a loud Snap-Snap! It’s easily the most electrifying sound Peter’s ever heard. He inches the lid up until he sees the front edge of a row of bills. His glee escapes in a quick laugh as he opens the case to expose stack after stack of five-dollar bills. It’s filled from base to brim with cash. His hands tremble as he wrestles with the urge to pull it all out and throw it overhead like confetti.
It’s his money. It came from his account. But, just as Valorie said the last time he saw her, it feels a little like they’ve pulled off an epic robbery.
“Ten strapped bundles per layer, three layers deep.” Valorie’s breath is sweet like wine and Peter notices her rosy cheeks for the first time. She rests a hand on his arm just above the handcuff and leans in to kiss him. Peter feels trapped in a moment he doesn’t want to end.
He’s pulled from the revelry by the sound of a man clearing his throat impatiently. Peter slaps the lid closed and looks across the table. He hopes the waiter hasn’t seen inside the case.
“Can I get the lady a coffee?” The waiter has such a grating tone that his disgust at their brazen affection is palatable.
Valorie’s once pink cheeks burn a deep crimson. She appears to push any embarrassment aside and commands, “Blueberry scone, heated. Two cake pops. One vanilla, one chocolate. Also, a large soy vanilla double-short espresso latte. Add whipped cream, sprinkles and a dash of nutmeg.”
“Anything else?” The waiter rolls his eyes.
“Depends. What’s my total?” Valorie grins.
He pulls a calculator from the apron around his waist and adds her order together. “Twelve dollars and thirty-six cents.”
“Well, I’m allowed a fifteen-dollar tab. So...” Valorie steals a glance around the disgruntled barista to read the daily specials. “Add one of those two-dollar croissant rolls.”
Peter hands the waiter a twenty. The server starts back across the café. Valorie shouts, “Thank you, Love. Keep the change!”
Valorie and Peter lean their heads together, snickering over the briefcase. She strokes his arm and her intoxicating breath is once again in his ear. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Do what? Order half the menu, or piss off the person bringing you your food?”
“Both.” Valorie presses her body against Peter and kisses the nape of his neck. Her hand strokes his thigh in much the same way that his palm caresses the briefcase.
Peter takes in a sharp breath, realizing two truths. One, he’s feeling bold enough to invite Valorie to go home with him. Two, he’s got a briefcase locked on his arm, and he still has to pee.