“If you don’t mind, I’d like to make your coffee this morning.” She went past him, going into the small but tidy kitchen and examining the coffee maker—even sniffing inside of it.
“Well, that’s rather unusual. I can easily make it—”
“Do you have any white vinegar?”
“What?” He pushed his uncombed hair back with a perplexed expression.
“I’d like to clean your coffee maker,” she told him as she removed the carafe, setting it into the sink.
“But, as you can see, it’s perfectly clean.” He ran a finger over the top of it.
“Yes, it’s spotless on the outside, but when did you last clean the inside?”
“What?” He frowned.
“Do you or do you not have white vinegar?” she demanded.
He went to a pantry and after a bit returned with a bottle of white vinegar. “Here.” He handed it over with a dubious look.
“This will take about ten minutes or so.” She poured vinegar into the carafe. “In case you have anything you need to attend to.”
“Well, I, uh, actually haven’t had my morning shower yet. I slept in today. Not something I normally do.”
She smiled. “Sometimes it’s good to do things outside of the norm, George. Go ahead and get your shower. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Well, I, uh—”
“Go on.” She gave him a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry, I’m not a house burglar. You can trust me. And take your time.” To her relief, he didn’t continue to protest. Poor fellow, he probably thought she was certifiably nuts. But as she waited for the vinegar water to heat and run through the coffee maker, she knew that purging out his old generic coffee would be well worth the effort.
Willow didn’t like to think of herself as a snoop but couldn’t help a look around the kitchen as she waited on the coffee maker. The wooden cupboards were painted white but spotlessly clean. The black-and-white checkerboard floors looked old but well cared for. Although there was no dishwasher, the aqua-blue stove and fridge looked like vintage 1950s and were actually quite charming. Other than the coffee maker and toaster, there were no “modern” conveniences on the original countertops. For some reason this wasn’t surprising. George was an old-fashioned guy ... almost like someone from a different era.
Curious as to whether there might be milk or cream forcoffee, she peeked inside the fridge to see that it was adequately, albeit rather spartanly, stocked. Not that she could judge since it was actually in much better shape than her own much more modern refrigerator at the moment.
She removed a carton of eggs, a block of white cheddar cheese, a red onion, and some spinach. While the second batch of just plain water gurgled through the coffee maker, she set to work grating, chopping, and stirring. She paused to grind the Brazilian beans and, while a fresh pot of aromatic coffee brewed, sautéed the onions. Then she added the spinach, eggs, and cheese ... and scrambled. Leaving her concoction covered on the stove, she got out dishes and mugs and then, peering into the backyard, she noticed a derelict picnic table and decided to transport their breakfast outside.
She’d just gotten it all set up, complete with a canning jar bouquet of blooms that she’d picked from a slightly neglected flowerbed in the backyard, when George appeared with a hard-to-read expression.
“You look clean and fresh.” She waved him over. “Breakfast is served.”
“But how did you—”
“I hope you don’t mind.” She filled his plate with the scramble then added a muffin as he approached. “But I was starving. So I just made myself at home.” She smiled nervously as he picked up the fresh pot of coffee, pouring it into his mug. “Please, join me.”
After he sat down, she said a quiet and nontraditional blessing then picked up her fork. “Dig in before it gets cold.” And without further ado, she took a bite. Egg scrambles had always been her specialty and this one was near perfection—although some cremini mushrooms might’ve improved it a bit.
“This is delicious.” George dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. “Thank you.”
“Try your coffee,” she said.
He took a tentative sip, then smiled. “This is very good. Is that just from cleaning with vinegar?”
She explained about the freshly ground beans. “But I couldn’t bear to put them in an unclean coffee maker. That would spoil everything.” She pursed her lips. “It’s rather spiritual, if you think about it.”
“How is that?” He broke his muffin in two.
“Well, sometimes people look all spotless and clean on the outside, but they’re a mess underneath.” She chuckled. “In fact, that’s almost exactly what Jesus said to the religious leaders of his day.”
“What?” George looked clearly confused.
