Getting To Nude You

We have our regulars at our new cafe. It's nice getting to know them, to hear about their lives.
One regular customer (large latte with half a sugar) comes in each morning and I ask about her day and her week and she tells me about her life with her husband and her grown daughters. She smiles a lot. She is lovely. I imagine she comes from the suburbs.
Today, I finished making her large latte with half a sugar, but she lingered, distracted, reading something. I saw that it was a Grumpy column at the back of the menus. She was smirking as she read.
She finished, we did the transaction and I asked, which one was it that you were reading? Turns out it was this one.
Then she smiled and confided, "I think I'm a bit of a closet nudist myself."
And with a small hand gesture that could have meant anything, she managed to scatter the things across the counter and upturn the tip jar, the contents of which clattered over glass and onto the floor and she tried unsuccessfully to gather everything and make time stop.
She apologised as she scooped the coins up from the floor and appeared a little flushed, and I felt like I was living a moment in a Richard Curtis movie.