* * * * *

Alice poured another round of drinks.  “Yeah, so you’re getting to know each other, then what?”

“We became friends.”

“And you eventually went for coffee with her which is a euphemism for…?”

“Coffee,” Bette muttered between long sips of her cocktail. 

* * * * *

Bette walked into Willoughby’s around three o’clock on one of the days she wasn’t working and was finished with her classes for the day.  The menu was fairly extensive for 1985.  There were four types of coffee to choose from and about ten kinds of tea.  She was staring at the chalked menu on the blackboard when someone tapped her shoulder. 

“Hi,” Gail said.

“Hi, Gail.  What are you doing here?”  Bette grinned at her.

“I’m always here at this time as you know.  The question is what are you doing here?”  Gail had been keeping to the same schedule for nearly three weeks.  She arrived at the library every day just as it opened, went to the rare collections room, and made herself at home in her makeshift office for several hours.  At exactly noon, Gail took a break for lunch where she’d sit on a bench outside, eat a homemade sandwich, a cup of yogurt, and a handful of trail mix before returning inside.  At three o’clock, she’d pack up her things, return any reference items and make her way to Willoughby’s for a cup of French Roast or an espresso before retiring to her rented guest cottage behind one of New Haven’s many mansions.  Bette absolutely knew her schedule.

Bette’s face warmed; embarrassed that she had been caught.  She wanted to run into Gail Sturges and Gail knew it.  “I – I was just passing by and thought I’d, you know, try it.  You’ve given it such high marks.”

“I recommend the espresso if you want a good hit, otherwise, go with the Colombian.”

“Okay.”

Gail smiled at the server behind the counter.  “Hi, Dave.”

“Your usual?”

“Yeah and I think she should have a regular coffee.” Gail giggled.

“The espresso’s too much for her?” Dave spoke directly to Gail as if they were in a secret club.