"I know," she agreed mournfully. "I just can't believe he's gone."
Seriously, Michael Jackson. She'd grown up wanting to do the moonwalk. She'd had a red leather jacket just like that that she'd worn every day to fifth grade. It was like a piece of her was missing, man. A one-gloved, no-nosed, eerily pale piece.
Reaching her storefront - hers, as of a few hours ago, and she could hardly believe it; luck like that was pretty damn rare - she turned her shiny new key in the lock, pushing her way into the kitchen. "Okay, I don't have a ton of stuff yet," she said, waving him over to take his pick of sitting on the floor or sitting on a counter. "But I can make you some coffee and toast."
She gave him a little grin as she walked past, nudging his leg with her hip. "Cross my heart and hope to die, Goldilocks," she said, tugging a strand of said hair and dumping coffee grounds into the machine. "Spill."