@jazzloved | (continued from x)
“I have that way about me, reading minds.” Molly tapped at her temple. “I could just feel you in the midst of your brass fury wishing for a cocoa respite. Who am I to ignore a man in need? Besides, it was that or, like, diner coffee and who knows how long that’s been sitting there, am I right? It’s practically fermenting.”
She lifted the lid of her own cup, giving a small exhale before sipping from it. The steam within was a warm welcome to the frigid city air already biting at her cheeks from the last few blocks’ walk. In truth, she hadn’t known for certain if the trumpet busker would be here again--yet here he was, tragically being paid very little attention for his talent.
Molly shook her head slightly, capping off her cup again. “Joke’s on you, man; every song you’ve played is just for me. You just didn’t know it yet.” Offering a gloved hand, she smiled lopsidedly. “Molly. Molly McKie. Not from New York and willing to bet you’re not, either.”
