Page 186 of Mangled Memory
“Yes. And she adores you, though I wouldn’t call her a puppy anymore.”
“Can we stop by on our way back from Kenosha tomorrow?”
He slides his phone from his pocket and taps his thumbs against the screen for a few moments.
“Done. Cian said he can’t wait and to tell you he loves you.”
He walks back to his coffee cup and lifts it to me. “Want a cup?”
“Not really, but I’ll drink one if you show me how to use that monstrosity. Whatever I did this morning was not worth the trouble.”
“Well, come on then.”
I grab my phone and round the island.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking notes. This is like graduate-level espresso. I could just buy a Keurig.”
“Woman, you bruise me.”
“Why do we do all this for bean water?”
“Because, Princess, you demanded this. Or a barista on staff at all times to meet your caffeine whims.”
I’m shocked and I can only guess my face says as much when Christian barks out a laugh.
“I’m a diva?”
“I don’t think anyone uses that word anymore, but, yes. About coffee anyway.” He points to the cabinet below the espresso machine. “Check out what’s in there.”
I pull open the door and slide the two inside drawers out all the way. Coffee syrups, ground chocolates and various cinnamons, powders, tea concentrates, flavored sugars, and extracts. “I own my own Starbucks,” I say with wonder. “Or I could with all of this. You did all this for me?”
“Of course, I did. Couldn’t have you running off with a barista who met your needs when I could do that at home. Vows, remember?”
“Can I say ‘not really’ and you take it as the joke it is?”
“Just this once.” He turns back to the machine in front of us. “Only eight more steps to go.”
“Are you serious?”
“We never joke about caffeine, Ayla. That’syourrule.”
“Seems reasonable for someone who requires all this.” I wave my hand at the coffee detritus in front of us.
“What flavor do you want?”
I look through the drawers, finding my mouth watering at all the choices. “I want it all.”
“Me too, Princess.Me too.”
I ignore his comment. “Let’s go cinnamon vanilla.”
He reaches past me brushing his hand and arm against my belly as he grabs the vanilla bean sugar and the Ceylon cinnamon. I should step back and give us more space. I see the error in my ways when he leans down and places a single kiss below my ear.
The hiss of steam in the frother doesn’t unlock any memory here, but it does make my heart happy. Call it serotonin or dopamine. Whatever. Happiness is caffeine, and it’s onboarding now.
“Oh, that’s good.” I mean it as a compliment, but the irises of Christian’s eyes overtake the rest. “I meant to ask you,” I start, but change my mind as his face goes from heated to hidden in under a second.
