[He looks up as she arrives, smiling faintly. His right leg is propped up on the chair beside hers, but he's hoping she doesn't mind; as she sits down, he slides one of the completed mochas towards her.]
We can do a trade. Want some hot chocolate? It looks cold out there.
[action] how will I ever live with myself
We can do a trade. Want some hot chocolate? It looks cold out there.