On her way to my table, where I am waiting for a pint of Guinness, the waitress on duty at Kolding Caffe takes a tall glass of hot chocolate topped with a dollop of whipped cream to a neighboring table. A man and a woman in their mid-thirties are sitting there, and I assume the drink is for the woman. But the waitress puts it in front of the man. At that moment the woman looks up toward the waitress and cracks an almost embarrassed smile. The smile is barely visible. There is a bit of a smirk in it, too. Neither the waitress nor the man notice it, though, and the woman shifts her gaze toward me. Seeing that I have spotted her discomfiture, no matter how slight, she wipes the smile off her face as quickly as possible and looks down at her coffee cup. The waitress is already at my table by then, and I make sure not to look toward the couple any longer.