“If you still want it when you’re finished being my victim, I’ll make a fresh one. Regular or decaf. Let me grab the next one.” She scooped the mug out of his hand, put it on the tray and carried it away.
“I was drinking that,” he called.
“Tough tookus.”
“Tookus?” he asked.
“Backside.” She laughed. “You know, like tough cookies, only different.” Her rough laugh felt like velvet on his nerves. He could listen to it all day. She didn’t laugh enough.
“Fine. I’ll wait. I’ll just sit here. Dying of thirst.” Drama dripped off his words.
“Wow! For a fire fighter, you are a drama llama, aren’t you?” She strolled back with three more mugs. “Guess the flavor from the scent.”
He inhaled the warmth over the first mug. “Caramel?”
She clapped her hands gleefully. “Right.”
He sipped. Sensing she wanted honesty; he offered his unfiltered opinion. “Oh, this is good.” He took three big gulps before she slid it from his hands and demanded he try the others. After tasting both he said, “The first is perfect. The second was almost tasteless, and the third was too salty.”
She made a fist and yanked it back toward her body. “Yes! You’re good at this. So far, you’ve agreed with me on everything. It’s hard to get just the right amount of everything. Salted caramel syrup alone isn’t enough. I had to add a bit of salt to make it perfect.” She swatted his hand when he reached for the first cup.
“Hey!” He laughed. She was so much fun to tease. “I’m drinking that.”
“I thought you wantedthe other one.”
“Can’t I have both?” He whined. Her eye roll made him laugh aloud. When she took the mugs away, he followed her behind the counter.
“Staff only,” she quipped.
“Train me how to do this. I’ve watched but I’ve never done it.”
“Really?”
“Really really. I want to learn all about you and what you do. You fascinate me.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but he meant it. He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll wash up.” Without waiting for permission, he washed his hands.
“You’ll need an apron.” She tossed a pink Coffee Loft apron at him. “Put that on.”
He slid it over his head and tied it up. He flounced around behind the counter pretending to do ballet. “Does this make me look fat?”
“You look like a doofus.” She chortled. “Come on. This is serious business. If you aren’t careful, you’ll get a steam burn.”
He saluted. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“You start with the flavor. I put it in first so it spreads evenly through the coffee. One shot ofchocolate, like this.” She demonstrated. “Now you add the cherry. Try not to get too much up the sides.”
She passed him the mug and the bottle of syrup. He managed to decant it without too much mess, though a bit dribbled down the outside.
“Wipe that off so it doesn’t spread to everything,” she suggested.
She walked him through the steps of making the espresso. From grinding the beans and pressing it into the cup that was attached to the machine. It was called the brew group. Who knew? While it was brewing into the flavored mug, she poured some milk into a stainless-steel pitcher.
“Hold it under the steamer like this. Not too deep, not too shallow.” She demonstrated and handed the pitcher to him. “You do it.”
He held it under the steamer and milk sprayed everywhere. He jerked back. “Holy smoking ashes!”
He turned. She was doubled over with laughter. He set the pitcher down and put his hands on his hips and glared. “What’s so funny?” Hefeigned anger.
“You!” She choked out a laugh. “You’ve got milk everywhere. On your nose, on your shirt. Even in your hair.” She tossed him a towel.
