Nick asked. He might as well have asked her to recite the periodic table. “Whatever you’re having.” She was gawking. It was rude. But she couldn’t stop. As Nick approached the counter, Maura continued to take in the space around her. The Dot Spot was a clever combination of rural comfort and high-tech convenience. Chunky wooden tables with high-backed chairs were interspersed with overstuffed chairs and couches. Along two walls stood a bar made of what looked like one continuous piece of highly varnished wood. There were some open hookup spaces, but most of them were filled with an eclectic group of people: a professional couple wearing business casual; a few teenage boys sporting various piercings, one of which had a skateboard propped up against his chair; and a fellow who in his overalls and straw hat looked like he’d just come in off the farm. They all shared the space together, drinking coffee and hunched over laptops. It wasn’t an amazing site in and of itself. In fact, with the exception of the woodsy theme, it reminded her of most of the coffee shops she’d ever been to in San Diego.
