Tirren had managed to keep the tears at bay all the way from the bookshop to the rest-rooms, where she'd been able to splash some cold water on her face. The last thing she wanted was further questions from strangers about whether she was all right. The cold water had worked to help her get control over herself, and she'd moved on to the coffee shop soon afterwards.
The menu over the counter seemed large and confusing. What was a "latte"? Or a "mochacino"?