The man found a way to bow, yet keep the laden tray level. The scant remaining ice in his cup still whispered. As he slid across from Scott, his lips’ last vapor trails subsided and the smock-like shirt settled; that chiseled belly was now but a vibrant memory. The visitor shelved that abundant tray (three croissants, some apples that wobbled invitingly, books, wallet, a storehouse of tiny jellies). Then he slid the cup onto the table between them.
The golden hairs that spangled his surprisingly delicate wrist drew Scott’s eyes to the (similarly delicate) fingers. Drew them as well to the smile spreading across the man’s face, drawing his eyes tight, dimpling his cheeks. In a twinkling Scott had piled his neat array of papers into a disordered heap and flung the mess onto a chair beside h
