He doesn't get her meaning, a whaler? but then he doesn't ask. The less said about those ghastly "coffee shops" the better; the swill they served up ranked well below what dregs he scraped from his small bricco when cleaning in it the morning.

The kiss she blows him makes him purr.

"Oh please, do," he rumbles gently. "You may consider the bet won already." He draws Jonathan a little closer, just close enough before he senses him hesitate and brace himself, then smiles like the cat that got the cream.

"What do I win?"