“My girlfriend?” Rhys asks, smugly hovering over my shoulder. I can’t look at him, terrified that I’ve made up everything in my head and that this wasn’t what he wanted. But a green mug of coffee with some sort of slightly misshapen design in the foam slides in front of me. “What’s this?” “It’s… ah, latte foam art. It’s supposed to be a flower.” He says it sheepishly, quiet. “I love it.”
