The coffee shop sat half a block from the water, salt in the air, windows fogged just enough to blur the horizon. Surfboards leaned against one wall like forgotten punctuation marks. Quinn got there early and immediately wished he hadn’t.
He wrapped both hands around his mug even though it was too hot and watched the door like it might accuse him of something.
Soren walked in five minutes later, hair wind-flattened, jacket half-zipped. He stopped when he saw Quinn, like he wasn’t sure he was still welcome in the room.
They stared at each other for a beat too long.
“Hey,” Soren said finally.
“Hey,” Quinn echoed, standing and then sitting again, like he couldn’t decide what his body was supposed to do.
Soren slid into the booth across from him. “This place still smells like burnt espre
