The one from the pier.
“Morning,” she said.
Hank glanced at me.
I ignored him.
“Morning.”
Annie held up the cups.
“I come bearing a peace offering.”
“For what?”
“I’m preparing in advance.”
“That’s concerning.”
“One is black. One has enough milk and sugar to legally qualify as dessert.”
“You remembered.”
“You gave a twelve-minute speech yesterday about coffee not feeling like punishment.”
“It’s one of my core beliefs.”
I took the sweeter cup.
Our fingers touched.
A tiny, ridiculous spark moved through my hand.
Hank watched the exchange.
“This is Hank,” I said, because apparently I had panicked so thoroughly that I was introducing them after they had already met.
“We met,” Annie said.
“Seven words,” Hank added.
Annie looked between us.
“Was I being audited?”
“Always,” Hank said.
Captain Pancake emerged from beneath the counter and walked directly to Annie.
He sat on her foot.
She looked down.
“Is this a greeting?”
“He’s checking for contraband.”
“Food,” Hank clarified.
