Madeleine X Espresso Novels & Stories

What the heck is Eleanor Roosevelt doing here? "A cup of Espresso laced with milk. What would you like to get?" A girl asked and I smiled before my eyes washed over the menu. "She'll have an espresso as well. With milk and maybe a little bit of Sugar? Not too much, just one teaspoon is enough." "Alright. Will be right back." "Espresso?" I asked and he nodded his head before his eyes studied my face. "Don't tell me you don't know Espresso?" "I–" "Hey, Marie?" He hollered suddenly and all eyes turned to us. Including my sister's.

Before I could ask further questions, he continued, "With one of the most famous businesswomen, Ms. Casey Renaulds." Instantly, I tightened my grip on the knife and questioned, "What did he order?" "Fruit custard and espresso with no sugar for himself, strawberry pancakes with Vanilla Mocha Deluxe for the lady." I gave a tight-lipped smile before saying, "Okay, I will make it." Mr. Colleny asked with concern, "Are you okay, dear?" I nodded abruptly. "Indeed, I am." I made strawberry pancakes, fruit custard, and Vanilla Mocha Deluxe perfectly. However, I added three spoons of sugar in the espresso.

“Breakfast is ready. Shall I serve it now?” “I’ll take it to her myself,” Gabriel said. “Put everything on the cart.” “Of course, sir.” Magdalene moved immediately. She poured the freshly brewed coffee into a glass carafe and placed it carefully at the corner of the cart. Then she arranged two porcelain cups beside it. She added hot donuts, because she remembered Isla loved them so much along with croissants, a Spanish omelette, sausages, and a few slices of fruit. She also placed a small bowl of lemon water on the tray.

The owner slides a tiny cup of pitch-black liquid, a golden, flaky croissant, and a small dish of marinated olives and soft-core cheese across the counter. Mia downs her own tiny cup in one swift, elegant motion. She taps the counter. "Your turn. Drink." Elias eyes the thimble-sized cup with deep suspicion. He lifts it and takes a sip. Instantly, his stoic facade cracks. The sheer, unadulterated, violently bitter espresso hits his tongue without mercy. "This..." Elias slowly lowers the cup, politely fighting the urge to grimace. "Is incredibly...concentrated." "It's a ristretto," Mia laughs, her eyes crinkling. "Shorter extraction than a standard espresso. Locals drink it straight."

He’ll know. And now, I looked at it again. A full-page, bullet-pointed, bolded guide titled “Mr Blackwood’s Coffee: Do Not Deviate”. I squinted at it like it was some kind of ancient spellbook. Or worse—blueprints for constructing a bomb. “Two full tablespoons of espresso grind. Not coarse. Not fine. Medium-dark roast only.” “Heat milk separately. Not more than 60 seconds. Use a thermometer. If no thermometer, pray.”

"And what kind of coffee would you like?" "I don't know," I answered thoughtfully. "What do you think is the best?" "That would be the Caramel Mocha." She scribbled the order down on her notepad. "With two pumps of espresso if you want it strong." "I'll go with that." I confirmed. "Two cups of Caramel Mocha, with two pumps of espresso." "Coming right up."

I exclaimed and went out immediately. I did not wait for his response anymore since I know that he will just ignore me like the usual. The moment I came inside, the sweet mixed aroma of coffees lingers inside my nostrils, making me crave for a Macchiato all of a sudden. “I would like one Cinnamon-Sugar Churros with Cajeta,” I started to order while looking up on the menu. “Also, one Caramel Macchiato, please. One espresso will do and make it a little foamier.” I added.

I said, trying to sound as professional as ever. A young handsome looking man stood by him, and one could tell that he was an assistant. “I’ll have a cotardo, made exactly to my specifications. I expect perfection, nothing less” he said, his gaze on his phone without sparing me a glance, and I arched my brows taking note of his precise order. “Of course sir, that'll be a cortado with 3:5 espresso to milk ratio, made with Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans, and a dash of cinnamon on top.” I said, maintaining eye contact, showing confidence and assertiveness.

"Great. So I can’t be late, but you get to take your time?" "Exactly." He tossed me a bottle of water from the counter, which I barely caught in time. "Hydrate. You’ll need it. Also, I think you should leave now, go get me my coffee and meet me at the training center by exactly four.” He stopped for a moment to look at the clock above me. “I need three espresso shots,” he said lazily, like this was just a casual order. “Two pumps of vanilla. Exactly 140-degree oat milk. Stirred, not shaken.” His lips curved. “Think you can handle that?”

“Good morning.” “Good morning.” He greets me normally, with a small smile. “Are you going to get coffee too?” “Yeah.” I say it, and then I start to remember something. “Wait, don’t you like green tea more than coffee?” “Wow. You remembered.” It surprises me when Xander displays a gleeful expression. He seems really happy at the moment. “Actually, I am going to order their matcha espresso. I saw it on their menu outside.” “They have one?”