Chris found his hand reaching across the table as an offering, hand open, palm up. He wasn't ready to let her go, even if it was just sitting quietly at the opposite end of a small table. Obvious? Yes. Did he care? Not really. It was nice having someone who seemed to like him for him, and not what he could do or who he was related too.

He shook his head at her words. "You don't look that cold to me. There's a difference between not wanting to be hurt and just not wanting." He pushed his cup toward her with his other hand, offering. "Here, give it a try. Tell me what you think. It's got some frothed milk on top."

Her home sounded. Inhospitable. And they didn't even have coffee to make up for it.