“How could you possibly know if he was a cuddler?” Trick’s tight-lipped grin was bemused as he watched Van shove a carafe into place before hitting the switch to start the drip coffee. “Have you gained a new magic power? The ability to assess people’s post-sexytimes activities with a single glance?”

“Look, I’ve become very adept at these things,” Van said, blowing her dark bangs out of her eyes. She’d pulled the rest of her hair back into a ponytail. “If I’d stayed, he’d want to spoon. He was a ‘stay the night’ kind of guy, which would have led to an awkward conversation over half a grapefruit in the morning. Not interested.” She shook her head as she filled the milk pitcher, the movement showing off some of the brightly inked tattoos that peeked out of shirt sleeves on her upper arms. “I’m not against cuddling in theory, but it can be difficult for me to sleep with someone wrapped around me like a sticky vine.”

“How do you even know what he was going to have for breakfast?” I asked, shifting the carrier strapped to me so I could sit more comfortably. I gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “Did you stop making out long enough to go through his fridge? Dig through his pantry? Paw through his fruit bowl?” I didn’t need to ask about the sleep cuddling thing. Van didn’t trust easily. You’re very vulnerable when you sleep, and the list of people Van would let sleep in her vicinity was short.

Van waved my question off with one hand, the universal gesture for I just know.

Trick looked skeptical. “I don’t think you can gauge cuddle factor ahead of time. Some people are surprise snugglers. And maybe he was a secret chef and would have made you epic french toast. You love french toast.”

Van flipped on the grinder next to the espresso machine, so she had to raise her voice. “He wanted to be my grapefruit spoon!”

Trick made an amused noise before flopping sideways in his chair, his eyes closed, waiting for Van to make his coffee. The upside of working in a potionary that also served coffee—because let’s face it, coffee was magic, too—was free coffee. The downside was roommates constantly dropping in to bug you while you made coffee and using that time to dissect your life choices. We did so lovingly, and would butt out if Van expressly told us to do so…which she would never do, because then she couldn’t critique our life choices. So she was going to hear it regardless, but if she didn’t work at Wicked Brews, she would’ve only had us annoying her at home.

Silence returned as she switched the grinder off and filled the portafilter before tamping down the espresso shot.

I examined Van’s expression. She didn’t look irritated with Trick, but sometimes even loving bickering could grate. I nudged Trick’s foot with mine, mouthing Be nice.

Trick gave me a slight nod, clearing his throat. “At least he didn’t want to be your soup spoon. That would have made shit weird.” Trick settled further into his flop, looking like something the Industrial Goth Fairy dragged into the shop in a fit of whimsy.