Foam.
Syrups.
If I was going to consume something that made me functional, I wanted it to taste like joy and poor financial decisions.
I moved slowly, trying not to bang anything around, and grabbed one of my favorite mugs from the cabinet.Cream-colored with a gold rim and a chip on the handle from when Tempi knocked it into the sink last winter.
I popped a pod into the machine, set the mug beneath the spout, and reached for the vanilla syrup.
And then behind me, Swift’s voice cut through the quiet.“What in the hell racket are you making?”
I jumped and slowly turned toward him.
He was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, hair disheveled, eyes narrowed, one hand rubbing over the sleep on his face.
I smiled meekly.
“I was just trying to make you a coffee since you’ve been making me coffee.”
He looked from me to the coffee machine like it had personally offended him.“When I make coffee,” he said, voice still rough from sleep, “I know I’m not making that much noise.”
I fought a grin.“That’s because I’m making you a vanilla latte.”
He grunted and wandered into the kitchen, stopping next to the counter so he could eye my whole setup with obvious suspicion.“I like coffee.”
I smiled.“I know.That’s why I’m making you a double espresso latte.”
He frowned.“Coffee,” he repeated.“I like coffee, not whatever the hell you just said.”
I laughed and hit the espresso button.
The machine hummed to life, and dark espresso started pouring into the mug.
“I promise you’ll like it.”
He made a doubtful noise and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms before running a hand through his hair.It stood up in a way that should’ve looked ridiculous but somehow just made him hotter.
Rude.
“You sleep okay?”he asked.
I nodded while pumping vanilla syrup into the mug and grabbing the milk from the fridge.“It was amazing being back in my bed,” I said.“Though I was tossing and turning a bit.”
“Yeah?”
I poured milk into the frother and clicked it on.“The pain is just…” I shook my head.“A lot at night.”
He was quiet for a second, and when I looked up, his expression had softened in that barely-there way he had.“Because you’re just lying there,” he said, “and it’s hard not to focus on the pain.”
I looked back to the frother before he could see how much that hit me.“Exactly.”
His arms stayed crossed over his chest.“I thought for sure you were gonna sleep like the dead after you passed out on the couch.”
I laughed softly.“Maybe someday.”
The espresso finished pouring, and I added the frothed milk, spooning a thick layer of foam over the top before drizzling a little more vanilla in it because if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
I turned and handed it to him with a little flourish.“There.A double espresso vanilla latte.”
