Noah picks me up right on time. Yesterday after shift, he said he needed a hand to help him shopping for upcoming Christmas at cafe.
It's a little bit past nine in the morning and the streets are still washed in a soft winter blue. My breath fogs in the air as I wait outside my building, hands buried deep in my coat pockets. When Noah pulls up in his silver car, I spot a paper cup of coffee in the cup holder, steam curling from the lid. He leans over and opens the passenger door for me.
"Morning," he says with that quiet voice of his. "I brought you chamomile tea."
"Thank you, I need to take a break from coffee indeed." I smile, grateful. It's just the right temperature—not scalding, not cold. I sip as we drive, and Mellow isn't with us today.
When I ask about her, and Noah only says, "She'll make a fuss because she won't be our center of attention. Better take her later on your day off."
