Latest Blog Post

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝

I like his coffee.
Not just the taste - though it’s always good, dark and rich and made like it actually means something. I like the way he makes it for me. The care in the ritual, the way he grinds the beans, the way he makes sure that moka pot is set perfectly on the stove, like it’s the most important thing. Maybe it is. At least, in that moment, it feels like it.

And sometimes he gets distracted. Sometimes he forgets it completely because he’s too busy tracing circles on my skin, getting lost in the way I breathe. And the coffee boils over. But he never blames me for it. But even then, he’ll sigh, curse softly, and start over, saying I deserve better. I think that’s my favorite part. The way he’s willing to begin again, just to get it right for me.