Mischief Coffee Novels & Stories

JACQUELINE Eight Years Ago “I ordered iced Americano! Why the hell am I getting a Latte!” “And I ordered a double foam Expresso, why did I get an Cappuccino with cinnamon, I’m allergic to cinnamon are you trying to kill me!” The two friends yelled simultaneously. “I- I..” I stuttered at the loss of words or explanation to give concerning mixing up their orders, they snarled and before I could bat an eyelash, their very cold cup of coffee hit my face and sloshed down my entire body.

"Anyone who bullies Hazel Sweeney again, I'll break their neck!" Everyone was stunned. I only felt irony; it was just another farce of someone betting with others to win me over. When he gave me priceless jewelry, I did not even bother opening the box; I simply donated it, saying I had plenty of such things. The next day, he sent even rarer, more expensive pieces. He took me to a Mafia family dinner, yet I showed up in a bikini. When someone mocked me for being unruly and dressed like a prostitute, he immediately canceled his partnerships with those companies and acquired them!

he said flatly. “Sure. What kind of coffee would you like? We have Americano, cappuccino, latte. “Black. No cream. No sugar. I said coffee, not dessert.” I forced a smile. “Coming right up sir” I tried. I swear I tried. But I was still figuring out how to use the stupid machine. In my panic mood , my hand slipped and I hit the wrong button. Instead of a plain black coffee, the machine sputtered out a lightly foamed americano with a swirl of crème on top.

He ask when I am about to open the door already. My heart is beating so fast as I slowly faced him. "Uhm that's a coffee shake, Sir." I answered hesitantly. "I told you not to disturb me. Did you buy this?" He ask calmly and I can't believe it, it thought he will be mad. "I personally made that, Sir." I answered, still nervous. I blink twice as I watched him tried to drink it. He started drinking a lot from it as he slowly nodded. "This is cafe mocha, this is my favorite coffee. How did you make it?" He ask while staring at the coffee bottle I used.

I demand when he steps into the elevator before the door could close. "I changed my mind." He shrugs, pocketing his hands as he leans on the wall opposite mine. "Whatever, just don't talk to me." I warn, resuming back to sipping on my carajillo. Of all shades of coffee, carajillo is the craziest; the shit tastes so divine, and I can't help wondering who sat down and thought of mixing coffee with alcohol, while Isaac Newton was busy staring at his father's apple tree. Who needs gravity when you can get high on coffee?

Jordan cleared out. "What is she doing?" I asked, unsure. Molly looked around just like all guilty persons did when they were doing something bad. Then she hid the stuff she poured into the cup, under her dress. "Looks like she is poisoning your coffee." Jordan said. My body froze. Molly didn't taste it after steering it with a spoon. "It can't be." I rushed downstairs, going to see things for myself. Jordan followed close behind. Molly's face lit up into a smile. "Just the girl I was about to come wake. I decided to do your favorite coffee today."

The coffee made there weirdly reduced his stress. Reading a newspaper, he waited for his order. The beautiful designs which he often sees on the coffee mug disappeared, making his day further dull. The coffee's smell was also different from his usual one. "Where is the design on my coffee?" He scowled like a little boy at the waitress who brought him the beverage. The young girl shivered in her legs at the harsh tone of the CEO. Their tiny cafe on the footpath beside the street was opposite the multinational firm. She may possibly lose her job because ninety percent of their customers came from the Pfizer group of industries.

PRESENT DAY... As agreed upon the night before, Mia was the one to provide the coffee. She carefully selected the beans from her favorite local roastery, ensuring they were fresh and aromatic. The rich scent filled her kitchen as she ground them, heightening her anticipation for the morning ahead. It wasn’t just about the coffee—it was about the quiet significance of the gesture. She wanted the first thing Erik tasted that morning to be something she had chosen, something that carried a part of her. As she poured the dark liquid into a thermos, she imagined his reaction—the way his lips would curve into that familiar, thoughtful smile, the same one that had always made her heart stutter, eve

It's supposed to feel like a medieval tavern. "This placed looked a whole lot cooler online," I laugh. "Well, what do you want to drink?" Selah asks. I look at the Knight Shaped coffee menu. Is this a teen Chuckie Cheese? "I'll have the black plague," I burst out laughing. Even their menu has medieval-themed names on it, like the Mutton Muffin. "Promise me we will never come in here again," I laugh. "Sure thing. This is bad. The black plague tastes rather good," Selah says.

Annoyed, I threw the cup on the floor and glared at my maid. “What the hell is this? Can anyone call this coffee? This is purely Chicory!” The maid took a step back in apprehension, lowering her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr Anderson.” “What do you mean sorry? Did you forget how to make coffee?” “Actually, Mr Anderson, I don’t know how to make a good cup of coffee.” “What? But you've been making it for three years now.” “That wasn’t me, Mr Anderson. That was Miss Cassie. She used to go out and get the best coffee grains for you and brew it. But after she has gone, we’ve begun using instant mix, and it doesn't taste that good.”