"That's strange." I mull over, resting my weight on the back of the chair.
A young girl who looked about in her late teen years appears from the back of the store, where the small door had been. An elegant air hangs about her and in the way she carries over the tray of porcelain tea sets over to our table first.
"Thank you."
She bends over slightly, setting down the cups in front of Vincent and I. She makes an attempt to pour the tea for us, lifting the kettle delicately when Vincent makes abrupt sounds of disagreement. It immediately cuts her action short and she peers over to him.
"I'll do it. You don't need to worry."
Vincent takes hold of the handle of the kettle and his eyes follow Cynthia as she gives him a small bow. She heads behind him, to Maria's table. I watch the crystal-colored tea pour out of the snot and push away the thought in the back of my mind that my body might not agree with what I am going to eat.
