No Sugar, No Cream

"I'll take a large butter pecan to go, please.", he said. Just how much coffee could he possibly drink. He was now a java connoisseur, no doubt, but at some point suspicions had to be aroused.

For the last three weeks he had been there at least five times each day. He must have consumed enough dishwater to fill his childhood swimming pool. Mocha cappuccino, walnut crunch, hazelnut, autumn mist, breakfast blend; the list could go on and on. He'd had it straight, with whipped cream, or even a hint of carmel. Every way in which coffee could be prepared had been purchased and injested. It was time to take the plunge. Time to put all the beans on the table, so to speak.

It was easy to ascertain the reason for his attraction to her. She had hair the color of a deep chocolate demitasse; strong yet simultaneously soft. Her eyes were a rich shade of cocoa, seemingly able to warm his very soul in an instant. And it seemed to him that he could just about drink her skin. It was just that delectable to the eye.

But it was everything else about her that really was engaging to him. She was perhaps the most charming,down to earth woman he ever had the privilege of encountering. Conversation flowed between them effortlessly. It was apparent, although subtly, that she had strength. Not strength in the physical sense, but the sort that he lacked. Inner strength. The type that keeps someone from hurting themselves or, more to the point, allowing someone else to hurt them. Yes, she certainly did take care of herself.

Alas; why would she have any interest in him? There were surely thousands of more qualified suiters than him. A man would have to be foolish to pass on the possibility of winning her affections. How could one not, after being served by this goddess of coffee, this jack-of-all-java, be at once mesmerized by the grace with which she performs her trade. The way in which she applies her essence into expresso. How she captures....
work in progress