Somehow the timing is always perfect between them. Perfectly off-balance. It's always one of them leaning in while the other pulls away.

Chase pushes his chair back from the table, too late to hide anything now but sliding the ring back into the palm of the opposite hand with as much sleight as possible while he stands. There's no mug of anything black and sweet cooling on the table already - he'd thought it reasonable to wait.

"I'll get your usual," he tells her, only making it clear it's a question by staying put as he watches for some response.