“Let me guess,” he smiled. “Real tea should be made in a kettle, right? Or a teapot, at least?”
“True,” she sighed. “It’s one of my happiest memories from home. I didn’t like it when we moved to Britain. I was six, and I was happy in Norway. I didn’t speak the language in London. I was too tall and too skinny and didn’t fit in with the other girls in the school my parents sent me to.” She sniffed the air curiously. “Huh. It doesn’t smell that bad.”
“We aim to please. But no. AP5 doesn’t have a terribly strong aroma. Not like Zombie Kush, for instance. I swear, you can get a contact high from that stuff just by being in the same room. Even if no one’s smoking it.”
The teamaker beeped, and he poured them each a mug, adding the contents of a pair of sugar packets to Ingrid’s. The blonde wo
