ISABELLA'S POV
"Okay," I said, eyes narrowed at Aria. "Final answer. You can only keep one: chocolate chip cookies or coffee."
Aria gasped like I'd asked her to pick her favorite kidney. "What kind of cursed question is that? Why are you like this?"
"I'm like this because these are the questions that define us," I said, smiling weakly. "This reveals your soul, Aria. Are you a creature of pure, unadulterated comfort, or one of ritual and necessity?"
"Okay. Okay," she whispered, closing her eyes as if in deep meditation. "Let's be rational about this."
I snorted. "Too late for that."
She ignored me. "Coffee," she began, her voice low and reverent. "Coffee is the starter pistol for the day. It's the smell of ambition. It's the warm mug on a cold morning, the bitter kick that says, 'You can do this.' It's conversation, its focus, it's... it's the infrastructure of my personality."
She opened her eyes and looked at the cookie. Her face softened instantly.
