“Thanks, man, just leave it there on the counter by the rake. I’ll get it in the morning,” Handy said. Warm obliged. He looked back down into his own half-finished cup for a moment, lingering on the threshold of the dark shed. He looked back out over the garden behind his father’s inn, looking at Happy Hour smiling radiantly while dancing with her friends around a small fire as minstrels played their songs. He chewed his bottom lip. “Hey ah… Handy?” He got a disinterested sigh in response.