The early mornings, Max had found, were his favorite. They were quiet (er) than the pace of the general breakfast crowd, although it had to be said it wasn't 'crowd' so much as steady trickle who came even if the food wasn't as expected, due to the convenience. He had wait-staff, but in the early, early hours it was just him. He wore another of the heavy cotton shirts, pale pink this time, and the cuffs doubled over from the wrists, loose in the absence of cufflinks.
Now he poured a measure more of the coffee into Claire's cup (it was improving, or Max was: it only had the faint aroma of burned beans this time) and smiled at her. Max's smiles were effortless and warm in that vague way that didn't require reason.
"Ten letters?" Max paused, wrapped his own hands round his coffee mag, and leaned into the bar. "Cup, measuring... tablespoon." He grinned into the sunshine of her own. The crossword had been the single piece of a day that Max carried into the courtroom: quiet, stillness, focus on one task. He had liked it then, he liked it now. The look he gave her was approving. Claire, of all his customers, brought him clues.