“What are you doing?”

She sipped her coffee.

“Not even gonna answer?”

“I’m not in the business of stating the obvious this morning. It’s too early.”

“It’s almost one.”

“If the liquor store isn’t open, it’s too early.”

“You’re seriously waiting for the liquor store to open?”

Sip.

“On a Sunday?”

Swallow.

“Did you even go to church?”

“Champagne will be my salvation.”

He grumbled a laugh

“Well, what are you doing here?” Uninterested, but not completely devoid of social graces.

“Getting some beer.”

“You unbelievable ass hole! Judging me for waiting and here you are doing the same thing.”

“I just forgot about the Sunday law, I’m not waiting.”

“So you just drink this early everyday, then? Buying your booze before most people are back from weekday lunch?”

She swooned with the setting of his jaw.

“You could have gone to a gas station. Probably would’ve been easier for you.”Softening her tone; so practiced, so sarcastic, “Don’t be embarrassed, Sweaty, we’re in this together.” She stroked his arm, forefinger trailing the veins hidden by his sweatshirt.

Harry was actually his name, an unwanted family heirloom, but she had long ago decided to prefer “Sweaty.” One squalid description for another, who could refuse?

“Stop that.” He swiped her hand from him, all traces of friendliness swept away with it.

The bells on the door rang behind them as the lock turned, unleashing them from the long-lost-love, talking-is-fine, this-doesn’t-hurt, scenario.

“Please,” she held the door, gesturing inside, “After you. Your beer is getting cold.”

©MaryHannahSnider 2015