He eyes me, then the table. That’s when I see it there. A blueberry muffin with golden brown crumble on top, resting on a small porcelain plate. I raise a brow at him, and there’s a slight tinge of pink across his nose. “It’s yours. Just felt fair. Since you’re helping me.” I smile at that and sit down on my own barstool. I take the plastic knife out of its wrapping and use it to cut the muffin in half, pushing the plate to the middle of the table.
