A woman's voice, calm and practiced, the voice of someone who had delivered bad news in beautiful rooms for years: "All North Springs trains are delayed due to snow."
Felix looked at the nearest departure board, then at Sloane. The four faces of the clock continued their unanimous indifference. "Looks like we have an hour."
Sloane tilted her head. "And?"
"And I'm still curious about the shoes."
She smiled in spite of herself, playfully shoved his arm, and took his hand. The shove was old choreography; the hand-holding was newer caution. "You're buying the coffee."
They walked toward the glowing departure boards through a current of strangers who had also just learned that weather had rewritten their afternoon. Sloane's fingers stayed in his. The thermos knocked lightly against the inside of the bag on her hip, a soft metallic reminder she did not yet want to explain. Above them the golden constellations kept their painted orbits. She thought, not for the first time that month, that fixed stars were a comfort only to people who did not have to catch trains.
The coffee kiosk sat under a string of white lights that made the steam look theatrical, as if the terminal had hired atmosphere by the hour. The barista—a woman named Maribel with silver hoops, a faded band T-shirt under her apron, and a voice that had already survived six hours of holiday travelers—took one look at their matching bags and their matching tension and raised an eyebrow that did more work than most full sentences.
"Two large," Felix said. "One black, one with oat and cinnamon if you still have it."
"We have it," Maribel said. She moved with the economy of someone who had decided that Christmas cheer was a limited resource and tips were the only renewable kind. "North Springs?"
Sloane blinked. "How did you—"
Maribel tipped her chin at the maroon leather. "That brand only shows up when people are going somewhere they want to look settled. Also your coat says wedding-guest money, and your faces say family. Delayed?"
"An hour," Felix said.
"Then drink slow." Maribel poured, dusted cinnamon with a little flourish that might have been kindness or performance, and slid the cups across. "If you fight, do it after the tip jar. I've got a shift, and I've already watched two breakups and one proposal that should have been a breakup. North Springs snow is undefeated this week."