@miss-polly cont. From X
It wasn't the reaction he had been expecting, usually they'd ask how he preferred his coffee, cream or sugar, honey even; He was not subtle in his confusion, wearing it plainly upon the weathered lines of his face.
"You'd know," he huffs, seeking a chair, leaning it on the back legs as he shakes open his paper. What type of cafe didn't ask how he took his coffee? Bold and dark, with a touch of cream, just enough for the fresh taste. He'd wait for her to serve it wrong, stubborn, willing to waste his time.













