Looking up from the history book she'd been skimming, Dawn rubbed her eyes. If she kept staring at those pages, she'd go cross-eyed. Didn't they make history books in large print? Maybe it was time to reconsider that whole Watcher/historian/demon language translator career path. She understood now why Giles wore glasses and cleaned them so often.
She took a sip of what was left of her coffee. It had gone cold. She made a face and set the cup on the edge of the table. It was while she was debating getting a refill that he came in. He crossed the floor in front of her table and smiled. He looked older - way too old for you, Dawnie, she heard Buffy's voice chide in her head - and vaguely familiar in a way she couldn't place. She would have remembered him.
Dawn did the very thing she really wasn't supposed to do. She blushed.