She arrived at his hotel at seven forty with coffee and pastries from the place two blocks down that she had discovered made the kind of croissants that required no justification.
He opened the door in a grey shirt and the expression of someone who had been awake for a while and was not entirely surprised to find her there even though she had not called ahead.
"You brought breakfast," he said.
"I was passing," she said, which was not entirely true since his hotel was not on her way to anything.
He stepped back and let her in.
They ate at the small table by the window with the Chicago morning coming through the glass unhurried and grey and entirely itself. She had brought enough for two which he noted without commenting on and they divided the pastries with the easy familiarity of two
