Does she come here a lot? Jefferson can't rightly say. If he tries to think on it, he doesn't really come up with any answer in any direction. His fingers seem to try to dig into the counter, knuckles straining and going white as he thinks, however briefly, that he'd like to hit something out of sheer frustration. As if striking the counter or bashing his head against the wall will shake everything loose.

It takes some effort, but his fingers relax and he drops his hands down to his sides and moves towards the case of desserts and pastries, to get a look at the cookies and pick out whichever one's the biggest. Working keeps the aggravation at bay, he reminds himself.

"Enough that I know your usual order." He puts on a perfectly concerned expression, as if this is his first time coming across somebody with a faulty memory in Wayward Pines. "Everything okay?"