I swallow hard. “Did you make him coffee when you were in college?”
“Every morning.”
“What was he like back then?”
He pauses, and I sense he’s collecting his thoughts. “He was my everything,” he quietly admits. “I didn’t think it was possible to feel that peaceful.”
We shift position so I can watch his face in the dim light as we talk, and we end up talking for nearly two hours when I start yawning uncontrollably.
Fuck me, I think I’m falling for Ward. The reverent tone he invokes when he speaks of their time together in college blasts most of my old preconceived ideas about him out of the water.
“We need to go to sleep, boy,” I say.
“How do you take your coffee, Sir?”
Yes, he gets bonus points for remembering to follow up.
Happy?
“Two spoonfuls of sugar. A little milk or creamer, if you have it. If not, that’s okay.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He falls asleep first, leaving me to wonder if any other beliefs I have are as flat-Earth-ish as what I used to think about Ward.
