“Coffee, black,” I say, and he takes it. I push the plate through. “Eggs, runny. Peas, ice cold.” I shove my hand through the door last. “Woman?” I leave both the question and my hand hanging in the air. “Woman?” I wave it back and forth, a smile on my face. Chuckling, he pulls me into his room and onto his lap where he sits at his computer desk, his breakfast situated to the side of his keyboard.
