Cath shrugged. "My father's a historian as well," he admitted. "He tours all over the UK, lecturing and teaching." It wasn't something he'd wanted to do since he'd become obsessed with the cause of Irish freedom. And now, he just wanted to quietly disappear and live out his days without ever needing to pick up a weapon again. "He's a good teacher."
He nodded again, automatically fiddling with his wedding band. "She is," he told him. "You've seen the wee redhaired barista who acts like serving coffee is the worst form of torture in the world? That's my Mae."
Really, the fact people kept coming back for coffee, even with her attitude, was amusing as fuck. But then, he understood enjoying the abuse. He did immensely.