He huffs a laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” I grin into my pillow. “Help yourself to some coffee.” “Already made some,” he says, voice still rough at the edges. “I’m taking a cup.” “That’s fine.” “It’s my souvenir glass.” I snicker into my pillow. “Bring it to the shop later and I’ll etch it for you. ‘Nova Porter rocked my world.’ ”
