“Where’s the coffee?” I ask, my eyes scanning the table. Delalieu drops his fork. The silverware clangs against the china plates. He looks up, eyes wide. “Sir?” “I’d like to try it,” I tell him, attempting to spread butter on my toast with my left hand. I toss a look in his direction. “You’re always going on about your coffee, aren’t you? I thought I—” Delalieu jumps up from the table without a word. Bolts out the door. I laugh silently into my plate.
I enjoy they silly interactions and that shows that Aaron is not heartless, that he doesn’t act violent or mocks Dieleie for his clumsiness
