it was a quaint little shop that was open late. the coffee was always hot and he could focus on his work. several case files were spread across the table, accompanying the coffee cups tipped over nearby. he was absorbed in his work, barely noticing someone pass by, nearly dripping over the messenger bag laying sloppily at his feet. âoh, shit. sorry.â he glances up, kicking his bag under the table. âjust got⌠engrossed in all this. let me get you a coffee for your trouble.â
open
Symon was glad to be finished with shift at the coffee house. He was ready to get home, eat, do nothing. This weekend he would have to escort, the tips had been low. He tripped over a bag and was about to tell the guy off when he seemed genuinely immersed in his work. He straightened up and looked the papers over. âYou donât have to do that. I work here so paying for a coffee for me would be a waste of your money,â he said with a slight grin. âYou can buy me a taco from that taco truck if you really wanna make it up to me.â














