Page 22 of Joy to Noel
Liam shrugs. “I assume so. I didn’t book the lodging—our executive assistant did that. She’s good about finding places for me that allow pets, so I’d imagine the landlord is aware of Hamlet’s presence.”
In response to his name, the cat gives a loudmeowas it brushes up against Liam’s ankles. It sits down at his feet and eyes me with a look of utter contempt.
“Um, hi there, Hamlet,” I say uncertainly as I bend forward and reach out my hand. The cat hisses and swats at my fingers, causing me to jump back in alarm.Maybe I am afraid ofthiscat.
“Don’t take it personally,” Liam says. “Hamlet doesn’t really like people, but he’s harmless.”
“Duly noted,” I say, pinning my own haughty glare on Hamlet. He narrows his eyes at me before trotting across the room to curl up on the bed. I turn to Liam. “I was promised a cup of coffee that would tempt me to change my mind about hot beverage rankings.”
Liam claps his hands together, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Indeed,” he says as he walks the few steps to the kitchenette. “If you think tea is better, it’s probably because you haven’t had a high-quality cup of coffee yet.”
He places a hand-crank coffee grinder on a kitchen scale. With practiced movements, he turns on the scale and a goose-neck water kettle. He opens a vacuum-sealed container and pours coffee beans into the grinder, measuring out the right grams. While the water heats, he grinds the coffee beans, retrieves a coffee mug from the cabinet, and covers it with a pour over contraption. He places a cone-shaped filter inside but doesn’t add the coffee grounds yet. When the water has been heated to the set temperature, he pours hot water through the filter over the sink.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, stepping closer in my curiosity.
He looks down at me as I stand next to his shoulder. “Pouring water through first gets rid of any lingering taste of the filter,” he explains as he dumps the coffee grounds into the damp filter. He placesthe whole pour over setup onto the kitchen scale and zeros it out before slowly pouring hot water over the grounds in a controlled swirling pattern.
As he stirs the water into the grounds with a tiny spoon, I can’t help but think this entire process is rather soothing to watch. Even if it turns out to taste bitter and disgusting. Liam continues to swirl more water over the grounds in intervals as he asks me about my to-do list for the day.
“I’m hoping that my friend who’s designing my logo and other graphics will get them back to me today. Then I can finish the web design and get some social media accounts created. I also have an editing course to start, and I’ll get through as many of those video modules as possible so I can add the credentials to my résumé ASAP,” I answer. I’m still mesmerized by Liam’s sure movements making the pour over coffee.
He sets the water kettle back on the heater, and I look up to meet his eyes. He asks, “I thought you had several years of proofreading experience? Why do you need to take an editing course?”
“Well, the specific style guide we used at the company I worked for is different than the style guidelines used for books. Thank goodness I get to embrace the Oxford comma again,” I reply. I launch into the differences between style guides, and he doesn’t even look bored as I explain.
“What company did you work for, and why did you quit?” he asks.
Although it’s a reasonable question, I feel embarrassed to answer. Ashamed to admit that, apparently, I wasn’t irreplaceable. I give a brief description of WritInc as a company, but shy away from answering his second question.
“And?” he asks, holding intense eye contact.
Sighing, I say, “And last month, my manager decided to save the company money by replacing me with a robot.” Liam raises an eyebrow, and I say, “They’re using AI to run the final proofreads instead of a human proofreader.”
Considering Liam’s job description—optimize processes and get businesses running more efficiently—I expect him to side with Evil Chad. So I’m surprised when he shakes his head in disapproval.
“Were there ever any complaints from customers about typos or errors?” he asks.
“I resent your insinuation that I would let a mistake slip through!” I huff. “Zero complaints in the seven years I worked there.”
Liam shakes his head again. “I understand the manager’s logic, but that’s a short-sighted decision. They could lose more money than they save in the long run if they start having errors. Customers don’t like ‘efficiency’ if it means mistakes—they could lose some clients,” Liam says, miming air quotes.
I resist the urge to hug him. Enthusiastically.
“Thank you!” I say instead. “That’s exactly what I said. Apparently, I’m not very persuasive. Or, I’m not very essential.”
“Untrue,” Liam says as he removes the pour over funnel from the mug, now that the water has finished draining through. “You’re both.”
He hands the mug to me with a gleam in his eye. “I think you’ll find I’m also very persuasive. I used my favorite coffee beans, just for you,” he says. “Moment of truth.”
“Don’t I at least get some cream or sugar in here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. Even though the coffee smells divine.
Liam mimics my dramatic reaction to his hunt-and-peck typing confession two nights ago, covering his ears and squinting his eyes closed. He begins in a falsetto voice, “I think you ruptured my ear—”
I smack his arm again to cut him off, which causes him to fully laugh. It’s a deep, comforting sound, especially paired with the smile lines around his eyes.
“You need to try it black,” Liam says when his laughter dies out. “Quality coffee doesn’t need to be drowned out with milk or sugar. You’ll get the full-bodied tasting experience by sipping it black.”
Eyeing him with suspicion, I raise the mug to my lips and take a slow sip.
