Not only was the barista a master of foam and caffe, but he was fast, and Remy nodded his thanks to the man he'd gotten coffee from so many times before, scooped up the acquired caffeine, and headed back to their table, placing her mocha before her with a triumphant smile.

"Yo' mocha, mon chere. Hope it's to yo' likin'." He returned to his seat with his own coffee, a sheen of nostalgia glittering in his dark eyes. How had they drifted so far apart? How had they let so much life come between them?

No, not them. She wasn't his.

(OOC: I couldn't resist taking poetic license lol)