He'd heard of James Patterson, even picked up a couple of his novels at a thrift store a few months back, though he hadn't ended up buying them. He'd decided on buying a discount a science fiction novel instead. But he filed away the knowledge that she had a preference for mystery novels along with the other things he knew about her.

Bucky rubbed his flesh hand over his face, yawning involuntarily and untangling himself from the blankets he'd used to make a pallet on the floor before he rose to his feet. "Yeah. Definitely need coffee," he agreed. Not that it did anything for him. It was a tiny bit of normalcy that he'd clung to.

"I can get it," he offered as raked a hand through his tangled hair.