If I stepped close to him right now, I would catch the fire and chemical scent he usually had from work. Trick was an elementist, meaning his magic worked with natural elements. Some elementists specialized in water, earth, air, or wood. Trick’s element was fire, which he used mostly for metal working and crafting the finest ceremonial daggers I’d ever seen. The high-end ones cost a pretty penny, but Trick took the same time and care creating cheaper, more utilitarian versions as well. Just because you had less money didn’t mean you shouldn’t have quality.

He was also an amateur circus performer, usually performing for fundraisers and charity. He could juggle fire and do aerial work, and had the nicest abs I’d ever seen outside of a magazine or television. Trick was glib, sarcastic, and wore all black, but he was also the kind of friend that would give you the shirt off his back.

He would just annoy you while he did it.

“Soup spoon,” he repeated, dragging it out.

“You heavily implied the grapefruit spoon was weird—how is soup spoon less weird?” Van asked.

“I actually know people who own soup spoons. Do you know anyone who owns a grapefruit spoon?” Trick scoffed. “I think not.”

“The nice thing about this discussion is that you’re both weird,” I said, wrapping my arms around the carrier. “It’s why we’re friends. Also, you’re both getting grapefruit spoons for your birthdays. I just decided.”

Van popped the portafilter into place and hit the button, waiting for the shot to pour. Trick liked two ristretto shots, nothing added, in a dainty demitasse cup. It made him feel like a giant, which, since Trick was on the shorter side and slender, wasn’t very difficult to do.

I stuck to drip coffee or flavored drinks, as straight espresso made me draw back and hiss like some sort of lizard. Van came around the counter and handed the cup off to Trick, then licked her thumb and brushed it under his eye.

Trick drew back, horrified. “Did you just mama bird me?”

“Your eyeliner was smeared!” Van scowled, but there was no actual heat in it.

“Mama bird is when they chew up food and spit it into your mouth,” I said helpfully. I was nothing if not a helper. “So no, she did not just mama bird you.”

“Please don’t ever do that.” Trick sipped his espresso, his eyes closing again, this time in bliss.

“I can’t promise you that,” Van said, grabbing paper towels and glass cleaner for the display case.

“Why can’t you promise?” Trick asked.

Van sprayed the case, quickly wiping away small handprints. “Who knows what horrors tomorrow will bring?”

“Mother hen,” I said, still stuck on birds. “I think that’s the phrase you were looking for.”

“Just once I’d like to see you do your walk of shame in the morning,” Trick said, trying in vain to drag us back on topic. “Like either the sex or the person was so amazing that you had to stay.” He tipped his cup back, draining it, before holding it out to Van for a refill. “I love you both, and I despair that the dating scene is so abysmal. You deserve better. Little Lou came home early from her last two dates.”