Iris rotated automatically, turning to face the kitchen and moving off behind the counter to get the sticky bun and the coffee. She was running through every face in her prodigious memory, trying to find one that matched Peter's, with or without the accent and the cheeky smile. Nothing came up--nothing that wasn't the nightmare.
When she came back it was with one of the shop's ceramic mugs filled with black liquid and the requested bun on a plate. It was gooey with icing because she'd warmed it, and the coffee was fresh because she'd just brewed it. She put it all down and stood there for a moment, as if at a loss.