Nick had met plenty of drifters on the job and off it. People who didn't dig down past the topsoil surface of the earth, who built their time on sand instead of rock. He did it his own damn self most of the time because grafting onto a place or a person hurt like hell the first time they turned around and decided they didn't wanna be grafted to you. Still. It made a difference and he was sat on his ass in a diner that ran all night because he wanted to belong. He wanted something he hadn't wanted a hell of a lot before and it wasn't just because legs and blond hair had walked out of his life and left him in a bed.
The floor didn't listen to reason. Practically didn't listen point blank but the woman draped over the seat like it was a lifebelt probably knew that already. He sucked down more of his coffee and poured with his free hand into her cup.
"You got it. I like breakfast elsewhere myself." Nick's voice was transitional-pleasant, the New York fleck at the back of his throat but he sounded like a reasonable kind of guy, even dead in his chair. x