Ethan remained standing, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, hands grasping a hot mug full of rich black coffee. Ethan took a swig, gaze aimed in Richard’s general direction but not meeting his gaze. The man dithered in the doorway. Without asking, Richard walked over, grabbed a mug from the six-pronged tree Rosie insisted they use, and poured out a generous helping of the black liquid. Richard took it with milk but he didn’t go to the fridge. He knocked the first mouthful back almost as one would a shot of whisky. Good thing the machine delivered it at a drinkable temperature.
One of them had to break the silence. “So…horrendous night, eh?”
“Worse.” Richard’s voice came out gravelly.