Tamora knows Riku's a big boy (especially now that he's, you know, not five years old anymore), but when several days pass without hearing from him she can't really help being a bit concerned. She's never been the worrying type, really, but it's second nature to keep tabs on the people who are worth keeping tabs on, after all, but she's not about to invade his privacy if he needs some alone time. She of all people can understand the need for a little solitude from time to time.

She's surprised then to see him enter the coffee shop. Mainly because he doesn't drink coffee and she knows it, and gives her a hard time about her caffeine addiction often. Listening as he clumsily orders whatever the general recommendation is (what a coffee rookie!), she waits for him to turn around and notice her.

Ah, there it is: that look of utter shock, tinged with a grain or two of quiet panic at being caught. She thinks that he looks rather like he's just been spotted at a place he'd shouted something about never being caught dead at. Regarding him coolly over the lip of her mug, she lifts her eyebrows as she takes a long drag of her drink, then sets the coffee down.

"Well," she says, inclining her chin and giving him a practiced stinkeye, "don't we look like the cat who swallowed the cookie jar."

One day she'll get those idioms right and stop combining them. That day is not today.