“I gotta ask, is that the same mug you’re always cleaning, or do they all get a chance?” The sea-fey’s gray brows rose. The tattoos on his forearms boiled as he scrubbed. “Didn’t think you’d notice. Old tavernkeeper’s secret. Wash one, everybody assumes the rest are clean, too.” He grinned at her. “Oatcakes and eggs today. Got some fresh honey too.”
