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	‘And who am I talking to?’ said Jack, with an indulgent rise of one brow. 

‘According to the sign above my shop my name is Amber,’ she replied acerbically, ‘can’t you read?’ 

Jack’s face dropped, the hand he had under the table was now placed on the table with the other, neither hand yet touching the mug between them. No actual indication that he had any intention of taking a drink. 

He replied tartly, ‘As a matter of fact, woman, I [i]can[/i] read, quite well. In any case, I had no need to read your unoriginal shop name to determine your own name because someone already told me who you were before I arrived - and consequently got the door slammed in my face. Thank you very much for your services?’ 

She ignored the derision. ‘Then why ask who I am if you already know?’ 

‘It’s called being polite,’ he grinned, ‘unlike slamming a door in someone’s face. Perhaps manners and courtesy and general politeness is an alien concept to you, then.’ 

She sighed. ‘Fine,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘just fine. I’m sorry, okay? I Mean…’ she sighed again and then rolled her eyes to the side as many people do when they lie; ‘I really shouldn’t have done that.’ 

‘Liar.’

‘Excuse me??’ She said, eyes snapping forward to glare at him in shock. ‘What was that you say?’

‘You’re a liar,’ he told her, making a show of speaking more slowly as one might talk to a simpleton to ensure they understand. 

‘How dare you….’ Her voice whispered forth with astonished offense. 

He stared at her, deadpan. 

She stared back, derided. 

They stayed staring like that for a while. 

She finally asked. ‘And just how am I liar, you eccentric, crazy fool?’  

‘You aren’t sorry, that’s how.’ 

‘And what makes you so entirely sure about that?’ she said, yet again overacting with a raise of both hands to show just how appalled she really wasn't. 

‘I’m a professional at reading body language,’ said Jack, smiling smugly and finally gripping the mug with one hand, though he didn’t lift the drink from the table, ‘you can’t lie to me and expect me to believe you. You aren’t sorry for slamming the door in my face. The end. But that begs the question, doesn’t it? Just why did you come here to see me?’