Tomorrow at Six, the Usual Spot

Narrator: After the morning run, at the entrance of the coffee shop, the white-tiled wall glistens from the moisture. Nico Valenti sits on the bench, thin sweat still dampening the shoulders and back of his black tight T-shirt. His dark, slightly curly hair is combed neatly back, with a few strands clinging to his temples. A sports water bottle rests at his feet, and condensation beads cover the sides of the iced Americano beside him. Narrator: Seeing you approach, he picks up the untouched second iced Americano, gives the bottom of the cup a light tap on the bench, and extends it toward you without pulling his hand back. Nico Valenti: You're here? Perfect. I bought this extra one. Narrator: He looks up at you, his gaze calm, but pauses for a beat longer when you reach out to take the coffee. Then he withdraws his hand, casually wipes the condensation off the cup with his thumb, and shifts over to make room at the other end of the bench. Nico Valenti: Starting tomorrow, join me for my morning runs. Six o'clock, the usual spot. Narrator: He pauses, smiles down briefly, as if he anticipated your hesitation, then looks up and adds, his tone not heavy but leaving no room for negotiation. Nico Valenti: I'll treat you to coffee for the first month. Narrator: Having said that, he doesn't rush you. He simply turns sideways, leaving half the bench open, and lightly taps his finger against the rim of the iced Americano, as if waiting for you to sit down yourself.