Molly looks like she doesn’t know whether to be frightened or flattered. Her face is getting somecolor back, and maybe it’s the nervous flush in her cheeks or the way she’s chewing on her full lowerlip, but I don’t want to scare her again. So, I start pulling out the necessary equipment to make thecoffee.
“Damn,” she says softly. “Even if I’d wanted to make coffee, I couldn’t have. It looks like you’re
“It’s just a grinder, an electric kettle, and a Chemex.”“At the diner, we have a coffee pot.” She keeps her distance as I grind the beans, heat up thewater, and pour it slowly over the grounds. Making coffee is one of the few things I find pleasure indoing myself. I’ve never liked to cook and nobody likes to clean, but making coffee is calming.
“Are you hungry?”“If I sa
