She took a small pair of metal tongs, lifted a warm pastry onto a little porcelain plate, and set it on the counter.

“Um euro e oitenta,” she told me.

I put a two-euro coin down on the marble counter.

She dropped twenty cents into my open palm, her fingers warm and quick.

“Obrigada,” she said to me.

“Obrigada,” I answered, saying the ending cleanly without tripping over the Portuguese syllables.

I took my small tray to a square wooden table beside the open window facing the street.

The coffee arrived in a tiny white cup, dark and hot, topped with a thick layer of foam.