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ʙᴇᴠ (mollyringwald) wrote in snapthread,

"Stan," she repeated, toasting him with her caffeinated beverage. "It's nice to meet you. And I guess you're right, it's hard to pick drip coffee over espresso." The latter was potent, it was luxurious, and with that kiss of foamy cream, you had quite the indulgent experience.

Add a cookie and, well, this probably counted as her dinner. Beverly hadn't eaten since lunch - time flew by, when you were toiling away in Nowheresville. But it looked to be getting better by the second. "Do you have a tiny one that could grow three sizes?" she volleyed back, elegant ginger brows poking upward over the edge of her mug when she sipped. Surely not. Surely there was nothing tiny about him.

But what were they talking about again? Oh, right, hearts. And soul-sucking jobs. "I'm a journalist. I write for a travel magazine. They sent me here to capture the essence of small town holidays and write about it. So far I'm kind of lost, to be honest."