Angela was not the world's number one morning person. Nor did she come in second, or third. She wasn't even in the running, to be honest. But she did know how to hold her alcohol and prevent too bad of a morning after, so when her alarm went off at 9 and her eyes slid open slowly, the headache wasn't very prominent. She read Eliot's text within minutes of waking, and smiled a little as she sent back a reply. She'd be there.
Twenty minutes later, looking somewhat refreshed-though her eyes were still tired-and dressed in boot-cut jeans and a peasant blouse-accented with a warm sweater jacket-the brunette stepped into the diner at the address in the message, and smiled when she spotted Eliot. Heading over, she signaled for a cup of coffee, and slid into the booth across from him.
"Good morning." A bright smile was offered as a thank you to the waitress, and Angela began to add sugar and creamer to her coffee; a lesser woman would have balked at the amount she was using, to be honest. When it was finally mixed to her satisfaction, she lifted the cup and took a long sip, then let her dark gaze settle on the man across from her.