Darcy took the tray and carried it into the living room. The porcelain cups clinked gently against the table's surface, the steam rising faintly from the freshly brewed tea.
Micah followed a few steps behind, a small glass dish of snacks in his hands. He plopped it onto the table with slightly more force than necessary, his brows drawn tighter in a sulky little pout. His lips pushed out, corners twitching in silent protest. Darcy's calm attitude was really getting on his nerves.
