Page 24

"Yes."

"That was nice."

"It was unnecessary."

"He does that sometimes."

I look down at him.

"Does what?"

"Gives people stuff."

"Why?"

Noah shrugs.

"Because."

"That is not a reason."

"It is to Martinez."

Apparently. I shift the bag to my other arm.

"Is he always like that?"

"Like what?"

I open my mouth. Then realize I'm asking an eight-year-old to provide a character assessment of the man I met twenty minutes ago.

"Never mind."

Noah spots something across the square.

"Betty!"

I follow his gaze. Betty has a coffee booth near the end of the market, and right now I could use caffeine almost as much as I could use a personality transplant.

"Come on."

The smell reaches me before we get there. Fresh coffee. Vanilla. Something cinnamon. Finally, a person who understands civilization. Betty looks up as we approach.

"Look who finally left the house."

"Apparently everyone is a comedian today."

"I wasn't joking."

"Even better."

She looks at Noah. "Hot chocolate?"

"Yes, please."

"Whipped cream?"

"Grandma says I'm not supposed to have too much sugar."