Coffee Mugs On Blue Bloods Novels & Stories

I mumbled, still too numb to give that word any emphasis. But it was his mug. I didn’t think he’d gotten to use any of them, but it was his anyway. I filled it with steamy coffee and went back to my desk with the black Haunters mug in hand. I desperately needed something to get distracted, because I knew myself enough to know I was at the brink of breaking down hard. Not even Lizzie’s patient coaching would get me back on my feet from this one.

“Vampiristic marks.” With a hearty chuckle, Mr. Jeffers leaned forward in his chair, his hand instinctively finding its way to the scotch on his desk. "Gwen, whatever coffee you are drinking, I need some of it. There's no way in hell I'm letting you run this story." My heart dropped to my toes at his words.

she said with a shrug, retrieving a curved silver dagger etched with runes. Cameron hovered his hand over the pot. Opal made a swift cut across his palm, and his blood dripped into the brew with a hiss and sizzle. DJ winced. Falcon looked away. When she had squeezed enough blood from him, Cameron bandaged his hand silently. That's when he noticed something strange, both Lazarus and young Nigel had similar bandages on their palms. They had already given their blood, he realized. The cauldron let out a loud pop. The mixture inside was no longer liquid; it had thickened into a swirling, purple mist that hovered just above the rim like a living cloud.

She went straight to Leanna's office, and Leanna's eyes narrowed instantly. "You didn't do anything good last night!" Zoey glared at her and said, "Help me make a cup of coffee." "Understood!" Leanna served her a freshly brewed cup of coffee, adding two cubes of sugar. "Try it, it's the Blue Mountain Coffee Bean that was just delivered this morning." Zoey stirred it with a small spoon and took a taste, "It's quite fragrant." Leanna stood by her side, leaning against the table, her eyes glancing at the red mark on her neck. "So intense, how does it feel?"

“How’d you like the Blue Office?” “It was incredible. I... Thank you. I promise I kept the gore down.” She waved her hand grabbing a cup from the cup holder and lifting it to her nose as she flicked the top open. “We have cleaning staff who work magic. It wouldn’t be the first time there was blood in the carpet. Hot or cold? It’s tea.” “Uhm... hot?” She handed the cup to me and took the other, sipping.

Shit! I grab what I assume is a chocolate chip muffin in one hand while pouring creamer and sugar into the coffee with the other. To my disappointment, I learn it's blueberry as I bite into it, scrunching my nose while stirring the coffee. With the mug in one hand and the muffin in the other, I make my way to the closet, nudging it open with my foot.

“And why you care.” Mr. Blue shrugged. “Let’s just say... I’ve always had my ways. And blood matters. Mikhail may be family, but family can be complicated.” Zayn studied him. “You think he’s the traitor?” Mr. Blue laughed. “I never said that.” He reached beside him and poured two glasses of wine from a bottle on the table. He pushed one toward Zayn. “I don’t drink with snakes,” Zayn said simply. “Smart man,” Mr. Blue said, and picked up the glass himself. He sipped. “But I’m not the snake. I’m just... the one who shows you where it’s hiding.”

“It’s not like I am not happy to see you but who the hell comes visiting at six in the morning Hunter?” I lowered my body onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Would you believe it if I told you I was just out for a stroll and happened to stop by?” He gave me a tight-lipped bullshit look as he moved to the cabinet and brought out three mismatched mugs. The one he set before me had a chipped handle and a picture of a roaring lion on it but on a closer inspection, I saw it wasn't roaring but yawning. Gary ignored the carafe and went to the old-fashioned coffee machine on the counter and started filling the filter with coffee grounds.

The kind of empty that has coffee in it. There are two mugs on the counter. Both poured. Both are still warm. The black one is his. The caramel one is mine. He has drawn a small heart in the foam of mine. The heart is the kind of heart that a man draws in foam when the man is a man who has been drawing hearts in foam for a woman for weeks, in the way that men draw hearts in foam for women they love. I look at the mugs. I look at the counter. I look at the apartment.

The green curry would be Dexter’s because he always ordered the green curry and then complained it was too spicy and ate all of it anyway. I put the menu down. On the drying rack by the sink there was a coffee mug I did not recognise as belonging to either me or Dexter. White, slightly smaller than the ones we owned, the kind you bought from a design shop rather than a supermarket. I turned it over. A small sticker on the bottom that had been mostly peeled off but left a ghost of an edge. From her studio, probably. She had brought a mug home and washed it and left it on the rack.