The place was nearly empty, a few late-night patrons nursing cups of coffee while a waitress wiped down the counter.
We took a seat in a booth near the window, and I ordered us both hot chocolates.
She cupped her hands around the mug, letting the steam rise up to her face, thawing her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice a little stronger now.
I smiled, relieved to see some color returning to her face. “No problem,” I replied, watching as she took a cautious sip.
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