The door to the rooftop café opened with a soft chime. Aileen looked up from her notebook as Richard stepped inside, carrying two thermoses and a paper bag.
“I didn't bring an assistant," he said, half-apologetic.
“Good," Aileen said. “I don't like being studied."
He took the seat across from her. The table was small, wobbly, tucked in the corner like it belonged to people with secrets.
“Chamomile today," he said, offering a cup. “And blueberry scones. Apparently that's a thing?"
She smiled faintly. “You Googled me, didn't you?"
“No," he said, “I asked the woman at the orphanage what made you smile."
Aileen stared down at the scone. “That was a long time ago."
“They remembered you."
She took a sip of tea. “So... this is real."
“It is."
“And you still don't want headlines?"
“No.
