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“Oh, no.”

Kell looks at me as if I’ve committed a personal offense. “You knew.” He packs enough outrage into two words to make Shannon snort.

I nearly inhale my coffee. “Knew what?” He points accusingly at the creamer bottle.

“You knew.”

“That coffee could taste different?”

“Yesss.”

“I knew I liked it with creamer. I didn’t know you’d like it too.”

His eyebrows go up. “You did not ask.”

Blair turns away, unable to stop snickering. I stare at Kell. “You’re taking this very personally.”

Kell points to the coffee pot, then the creamer. “Mine. With that.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So coffee gets a second chance?”

“With that.”

Fair enough. I take down another mug, pour him a small cup, and add a modest splash of salted caramel. “Try that first. We can escalate if necessary.”

Kell takes a careful drink. His eyes widen. He looks into the mug as if an entirely different beverage has somehow replaced the first one.

“Coffee good.” He emphasizes the last word as if it were ambrosia.

Shannon makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

“Coffee was always good,” I tell him. “You just didn’t like it black.”

“Black bad.”

“Dave liked it black.”

That information earns a thoughtful pause. Kell takes another sip. “Dave wrong.”

The kitchen erupts. I have to put my mug down before I spill it.

“Absolutely not. You don’t get to insult my dead husband’s coffee preferences on your first morning.”

“Preference wrong.”

“That’s not how preferences work.”

“Mine better.”

“You’ve had exactly one creamer.”

He drinks again. “Still better.”

Blair leans against the counter, laughing. “I would like the record to reflect that this entire situation is Laura’s fault.”

“I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t.”