He lifts the mug, inhaling deeply. “Smells like Christmas morning.” He smiles before taking a careful sip. “Yum. Tastes like Christmas too. See what you think.” He pushes the drink toward me.
The latte is warm and soothing, the sweetness balanced by the bite of the spices and the rich bitterness of the espresso. He’s right—it tastes perfect for the festive season. “I think we have a winner,” I say, and Greg hums in agreement.
With the gingerbread latte perfected, I turn my attention to the next drink on our list. “Okay, babe, time for the salted caramel mocha. Can you grab the caramel syrup?”
“Aye, aye, captain!” He salutes and reaches for the bottle, placing it on the counter with a dramatic flourish.
I roll my eyes at his terrible pirate accent, chuckling as I measure out the syrup.
He cranks up the volume on his phone, as the song changes to the more upbeat “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” He winksand shimmies towards me. “Come on, babe,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the espresso machine.
I grin and shake my head but let him twirl me into a silly dance. His exaggerated dance moves make me laugh out loud. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he shoots back, bumping his hip against mine.
I do love it—lovehim, love his spontaneity and the way he makes even the most mundane tasks fun. He encourages me to let my hair down and puts a smile on my face, even if I’m out of my comfort zone now and then. It’s one of the things that makes our relationship—makes him—special.
When the song ends, I reluctantly detangle myself from his arms. “Okay, okay, back to work. This drink won’t make itself.”
A short while later Greg peers over my shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, that smells divine. Like a grown-up version of hot chocolate. Very sophisticated.”
I nod, warming at his appreciation.
“Although, I think they need a final garnish for some extra Christmas pizzazz. What do you think about topping the gingerbread one off with a little tiny gingerbread man? I’m not sure about the other one.”
“I have an idea.” I crouch and rummage under the counter, rising with a jar of chocolate candy buttons and a jar of silver candy balls, and toss a few of each on top of the whipped cream. The tiny balls gleam under the lights. “Ta da.”
“The perfect festive touch,” Greg says.
I laugh as I admire the creation. “It’s almost too pretty to drink.”
We take turns sipping the mocha, savoring the interplay of sweet and salty. “The salt really brings out the flavors. It’s all about balance.”
“I can’t wait to see the looks on the customers’ faces when they try these,” Greg says. “You’re going to make their holiday season extra special.”
I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Thanks for your help today. We make a pretty great team, don’t we?”
“The best,” he agrees, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.
“So we agree? They both make the list?” I ask, taking a step back.
“Absolutely. Hey, babe,” Greg says, his face lighting up. “We should make a special Christmas drink for the kids too. Like a Christmassy babyccino or something.”
“That’s a fantastic idea! Frothed milk, but we could top it with raspberry syrup, mini marshmallows, and a dusting of coconut for snow. Maybe even add a little candy cane on the side.”
“Can you imagine how much the kids will love it?” Greg says, his smile soft and dreamy. “That’s what it’s all about—special moments for the kids. I’ll have to bring Madi’s kids in to try one. Maybe Georgia can bring along her nieces and we can make a party of it?”
I smile at his idea. I can picture it perfectly, Greg surrounded by his nieces and nephew, making sure they have a good time and are spoiled rotten, and the thought makes me happy.
“We’ll have to come up with a name for the drink.” I’m already running through possibilities in my head. “Something that captures the magic of Christmas, something that will appeal to the kids.”
“Something fun. How about Rudolph’s Red-Nose Delight,” he suggests, then snickers. “Oops—or maybe not—the raspberry syrup will look like Rudolph snot.”
“Eww.” I chuckle, shaking my head at his silliness. “We’ll workshop it.”
I pass him the gingerbread latte concoction. He takes a sip and passes it back. We take turns sipping the latte, and the flavors of gingerbread and coffee mingle deliciously on my tongue.
As Greg lowers the mug, there’s a smudge of whipped cream on his upper lip. Unable to resist, I reach out and gently wipe it away with my thumb. Our eyes meet, and suddenly the air between us is charged with a different kind of warmth.
