The next morning, Greta and I were having coffee and croissants at the table when a knock came at the door. We looked at each other with knowing eyes. Someone with a bad headache was on the other side.
I opened the door to see Paschal freshly showered but with bloodshot eyes and a hairy shadow on his face. I motioned him to come in. He moved with confidence but I could see the slight hesitation in his walk. My heart ached for this self-confident man who was humbling himself.
“Good morning, Pashcal. How are you feeling?”
He shook his head slowly. “Do I need to answer that question?”
I gave him a short laugh. “No.” Glancing at Greta, I saw her suppress a smile. “Do you want to sit down and have a cup of coffee?”
His eyes moved behind me to the coffee in Greta’s hand. “Coffee? Yes.” He moved to the table. His eyes were glued to my hands that carried the cup of caffeine to him.