“Of course you’re probably just too nice.”
Scalding tea streams from the spout of the pot as the milk floats greasily to the surface.
“I don’t doubt that.”
The cups slide ominously on the tray.
“You can’t deny it.”
I shake my head, agreeing.
You’re mostly wrong about everything though.
Crumbs have gathered at the corner of your overly pink mouth. There’s no napkin, and I’m not inclined to fetch you one.
Behind the grimaced smile a flicker of carapace, click of wings. Averting my eyes to gaze at fly-blow on the window, outside it has begun to snow.