If Gwydion noticed her, he made no sign. He was too engrossed in moving the pen from one side of the page to another in a network of complicated loops and swirls that made up his handwriting. He fared better on this page—the first page he’d started with his left hand and quickly learned that he was not left-handed. Of course, that had taken the better part of the page to figure out entirely. Hadn’t he been left-handed last time? That had been more than a few centuries ago, true, but he distinctly remembered being left-handed…
Mostly.
But now that he’d figured out he was actually right-handed, his writing was coming along much better. He didn’t even know what he was writing, not really, just that he had to keep making marks on the page. He’d go for substance later. Right now, he was much more concerned with keeping his hand moving. After the woman who’d sat down beside his table had been there for a while, Gwydion finally glanced up at her. He didn’t recognize her, didn’t know her, and therefore turned his eyes away and back to the page. And his mocha. Just breathing in the scents of chocolate, coffee, and raspberry relaxed him in ways he could never believe.