Her gaze shifts to AJ. “And for your friend?”
“What do you recommend?” he asks.
Martha brightens, because she lives for nothing more than being handed control of someone’s breakfast.
“Depends how brave you are.”
“I have spent the week with firefighters. My standards for bravery have been adjusted.”
I should not enjoy the way he says that.
Martha points towards the archway at the back of the shop. “Go through. I’ll bring coffee over.”
AJ follows me past the counter, through the warm chaos of people buying bread and takeaway coffees, and into the restaurant at the back.
It opens out more than anyone expects from the front: low beams, stone walls, old wooden tables, the steady clatter of cutlery, morning light coming in through the rearwindows. There are walkers in waterproofs at one table, two women sharing toast and gossip at another, and an older man reading the paper with the focus of someone who intends to make one pot of tea last an hour.
It is busy enough not to feel exposed.
I take my usual table near the back wall because habit is habit.
AJ sits opposite me and looks around.
“This place is bigger than it looks.”
“Best places usually are.”
“You really do come here a lot.”
“It’s convenient.”
“How convenient?”
I nod towards the front of the bakery, then beyond it. “Across the road. Flat above the old bookshop.”
He turns slightly, as if he can see through the front shop, the display window and the street all at once.
“You live directly opposite this?”
“Yes.”
“That is dangerous.”
“It’s convenient.”
“It is dangerous convenience.”
“I have self-control.”
He looks at me.
I raise an eyebrow.
He smiles. “I’m saying nothing.”
“Wise.”
Martha brings the coffee herself, which is unnecessary and entirely because she is nosy. Mine is black and strong enough to taste like it has opinions. AJ adds milk to his, because apparently he is not completely reckless.
