Sam's Ice Creamery, Huskisson, Monday.
Sam looks up at the tinkle of the door's bell. Customers. No, it's Annalise, and some white boy.
"Morning, Sam."
"You're not dripping all over my floor?" he asks.
"No." She looks damp, but not drippy.
"Where'd you get the boy from?"
"Hyams Beach. He was watchin' me surf. He's from Dublin, thought I'd show him the best ice cream in the state."
Sam laughs. "Flatterer."
"Just biased. Family always is."
He serves them, rum-and-raisin for her, espresso for him.
"That'll be $5."
They both go for their wallets.
"Don't patronise me," she warns.
"My family are millionaires."