Eighteen
When Guthrie came back into the cafe the coffee towers were already on the table. He sat down and immediately picked up the dessert fork and scooped up a generous portion.
“Mm-mmm. These are good,” he said through a mouthful of coffee-flavoured cream.
Alisdair sat with his mouth open slightly and a puzzled look on his face.
“What?”
“Oh, you know what,” Alisdair answered.
“Oh. You mean the phone call?”
“Aye, the phone call.”
Guthrie took another bite, “Umm, these really are good."
"Tom!"
"Oh, aye. Gossip.”
“Gossip?”
“Yup. Gossip.”
“Sorry. You’ve lost me.”
“Look around, Alisdair.” Guthrie swung his fork around in a wide arc, taking in the entire room and sending a tiny piece of pastry flying off. “What do you see?”
Alisdair surveyed the sights of a normal coffee shop.
