Yanks? Who the hell said that? Riley wrinkled her nose at the term…apparently this guy did. He also chalked the phone call to the cops up to the geographic origin of the people making the call. As someone who’d lived her whole life in some of the northernmost parts of the United States, Riley took mild offense.

”I’m sure it had nothing to do with the broken table or the fist fight in their shop.” she said, and her eyebrows rose again.

”Riley.” she said in response to his name. Michael. Why had she expected “Buck” or “Charlie"?

She returned the hand shake lightly, still eying Michael skeptically. "Thanks for the coffee."

"The table idn't broken.. anymore. An' 'sides it was self defense after I stepped in on their side."

The woman gave her name, Riley, and returned the handshake. And then to the Rangers, mild, surprise Riley thanked him.Following the comment at the door it almost seemed like she didn't know the phrase.

"Yer welcome." He said to her again, this time there was no irritation in his voice. With that he turned to leave the coffee shop. Attempting to linger longer would just be pressing his luck.