Page 57 of Knot Your Sunshine
"Local craftsmen." Pride colors his voice as he runs his hand along the smooth volcanic rock. "Each basin serves a different purpose: pulping, fermentation, washing."
He demonstrates each step, and his professor voice should not be this attractive. But watching him explain something he's passionate about, seeing his eyes light up when he talks about fermentation temperatures and processing times… it's intoxicating.
"Then roasting?" I ask, trying to focus on coffee instead of how his forearms flex when he scoops beans.
His eyes light up. "Yes, the best part."
We walk up to a copper drum roaster. Josh starts it up, and it rotates with a hypnotic rumble.
"Temperature is everything," he explains, pouring green beans into the hopper. "Two degrees can change the entire flavorprofile. Too hot and you burn away the subtle notes. Too cool and you don't develop the sugars properly."
"You really love this." It's not a question.
He looks at me. "I love creating something that brings people joy. You could argue I'm a…pleaser."
I bite my lip, getting lost in his eyes.
Since when is Josh so forward? I like it a lot though…
The roaster clicks, snapping me back to the moment. Josh turns to remove the beans, and the aroma that fills the room is a perfect harmony of chocolate, caramel, and cherry. It smells absolutely divine.
"Try one." He picks up a still-warm bean and holds it toward my mouth.
I lean forward, taking it from his hand with my lips, letting them brush his fingertips. His pupils dilate instantly.
"Good?" The word comes out rough.
"Incredible." I lick my lips, watch his eyes track the movement. "What's next now,professor?"
He clears his throat. "We should... brewing. The cupping room."
The cupping room feels more like a secret hideaway than part of a processing station. A narrow counter runs along one wall, and every piece of brewing equipment lined up with precision. Josh moves among them, setting out three different brewing methods as if arranging instruments before a symphony. I can only watch, caught somewhere between fascination with the ritual and the man performing it.
"Pour over first." He slides a cup toward me, our fingers brushing. "Tell me what you taste."
I sip, closing my eyes to focus. "Bright. Almost like berries?"
"Good palate." His approval warms me more than the coffee. "Now French press."
With each taste, we stand closer. By the time we reach the espresso, we're hip to hip, sharing the small cup between us.
"How can it taste so different when it's the same beans?" I ask, setting down the cup.
"Extraction, temperature, time." His eyes hold mine. "All in all,chemistry."
"I might know a thing or two about that." I bite my lip, closing the last gap between us.
"Is that so?" His hand comes up, tucking hair behind my ear with infinite care.
The gentle touch sends warmth spiraling through me. I find myself leaning into his palm, my eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before opening to meet his gaze again. The air between us feels charged, electric.
I reach up, my fingers sliding through his soft, wavy hair, and he leans down at the same time, our movements instinctive and synchronized.
Then, our lips meet.
The kiss starts tentative, exploring. He tilts his head, changing the angle, and I feel his breath warm against my cheek. Our lips part and meet again, each touch a little braver than the last. Then I make a small sound against his mouth and his control fractures. His hands find my waist, pulling me against him, and the kiss deepens into something that makes my knees weak. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, tasting a touch of espresso.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
