“Thank you,” I said, giving a short, polite nod.

I set the bottom of the paper cup on the little folding tray table in front of me.

At six fifteen that morning, Daniel and I had shared a cup of stale coffee by the kiosk while rain ran down the terminal glass.

That early-morning coffee had tasted of cardboard and floor wax, gulped down in a rush while I fretted about missing my tight connections.

This coffee was hot, fresh and calm.