He's so careful about it. Precise. Intense. Nothing looks like it's chance consideration. That half warily uncertain, half have endured this ritual a thousand mornings over look, that is being given with the intensity that belongs to paintings and crime scenes at such a small thing as his coffee cup. Before he's lifting it with something that looks like barely there resignation to whatever it will be.

Tying into knots that bundle of nerves in her stomach that wants to make this careful, studied, barely revealing look on his face away. The feeling that doesn't leave her, especially when he's raising his eyes over the cup at her, like it all never happened. Mild and clear, still as part of a drab, dry comment about hobbies having anything to do with relaxing off the clock.

Martini's don't really go well with coffee, but that's the last thing Audrey's thinking when she lets go of her martini glass stem and holds out her hand for his coffee cup, right? Even when she smiles, wanly, replying. "Well, there isn't a golf course or an art studio here, so you'll have to try something new at some point."