Now, after a few weeks of establishing the habit, both seemed to take it for granted that they would begin the day in this butter-flaked, fruit-filled, peppermint-steeped sort of manner. “Have you seen this?” Arch repeated, shaking the folded paper just enough to bring Quincy back to the present. She had only just realized something that made her not want to look at him. This routine felt rather like something one kept after a fortieth wedding anniversary. “Sorry,” Quincy flushed. “I was thinking.” “About the board meeting later today?” “About bad ideas,” Quincy quipped, taking a sip of her
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