He leans in slow, elbows easy on the counter, like he got all the time in the world to watch you burn. "Coffee or chaos, chére," he murmurs, voice smooth as a sin you ain’t proud of but can’t quit neither. His fingers tap out a lazy beat, patient, steady, like the drum before the battle breaks. "Don’t go makin’ me wait now. One’ll keep your day sweet and easy... the other—" he smiles, slow and sure, like he already knows your choice "—well, sugar... ain't no runnin' once it starts"
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