I walked into the coffeehouse minutes later. It was still busy at this hour. I looked around, trying to find Trenton in the crowd, and then I heard someone call my name. I turned to see him waving at me from behind the counter. Ah, so he worked here. I nodded and walked over to the counter, no line there for the moment.
“Thanks for stopping by,” he greeted me, smile as bright as it was when we first met, but now I could see the lingering sadness in the tilt of his mouth. His hair was tucked under a baseball cap with the company logo on the front. A nametag on his shirt said he was the manager on duty.
“No problem. Are you going off-shift or taking a break?” I asked.
“A break. Lipton?” He remembered what I’d drunk at his house.
“Sure.”
“It’s on me. I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”
