Watery morning sunlight washed across the swirly pattern in the Formica surface. The place was small, twelve tables in all. The waitress brought them each a cup of the strong coffee with the peppery flavor. Rita found she was actually developing a taste for the stuff. Especially with cream and sugar mixed in. She licked her spoon and caught him watching her. She had the sudden urge to run the tip of her tongue around the edge of the spoon. While giving him a sultry look, if that were possible. She put the spoon down beside her coffee. Get real. She’d probably seen it in a movie. He picked up an abandoned newspaper and glanced through it. She allowed herself a breath of relief, an imaginary pat on her back. She’d done it, faced the dark Christopher LaPorte halfway across the country with her crazy story …and survived. All right, she hadn’t been brave the whole time, but she’d done a good job overall. Here in this quaint coffeehouse in the company of a handful of strangers, she could feel like the lion at the end of The Wizard of Oz. Amid the occasional clink of spoon against coffee mug and a comment about a parade spoken between the people around them, she realized how normal she and Christopher must look: a couple having coffee together before starting their day.
