Depression, she had learned, was a fickle thing. It wrapped around her like a well-worn blanket most of the time, but on the rare occasions she was able to shake it off — like that afternoon in the tea shop — her other impulses flared to life, leaving her ravenous. If there had been a menu option to bend over the table and let that mellifluous, silky voice rail her into next week, she would have ordered two and a third to take home.
