It was a slow day at Coffee By Constance. They hadn’t seen a customer since about ten that morning, and it was now pushing one. Noah leaned lazily against the counter, tracing his finger over the surface, drawing figure eights listlessly.
Constance was in the kitchen, washing up what few dishes had been used that day. When she emerged, adding the three coffee mugs to the collection on the back counter, Noah turned to face her.
“Hey, Constance, I was wondering if you could answer a question for me. It’s been bugging me for a while now.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Noah hesitated then, though he didn’t know why. “Steel. Where did he get his nickname? I mean, nobody just calls their kid Steel, right?”
Constance chuckled. “True enough. Steel’s nickname actually came from me.”
Noah blinked. “From you? You gave it to him?”
“No, Winston’s father gave it to him, but he did it because of me. Steel was a runaway, and we took him in. In the early days he was a bit of a handful. One night, I caught him sneaking into the kitchen to take food. We’d tried to break him of that habit. My husband came into the kitchen and found us face to face, eyes locked in a stare down, and he started laughing. We asked what was so funny, and he commented that the kid had balls of Steel, since my glare can apparently make grown men wilt. Steel liked the comment, and started using it as his nickname. Now I don’t know anyone who calls him by his real name.”
“What is his real name?” Noah inquired.
“Now that you’ll have to hear from him.” Constance returned to the kitchen, leaving Noah with an answer and a new question.