Falling For My Father's Best Friend
I dried off slowly, lotioned my skin and walked naked back to the bedroom.
The Rossi coffee sat on the counter - brown matte box, gold lettering. I'd bought earlier. I opened it scooped grounds into the new machine, waited for the hiss and drip. When the first cup was ready I poured it black, no sugar, and took a slow sip standing at the window.
God.
It was good.
Rich, smooth, almost chocolatey, with that deep, smoky finish that coated my tongue and warmed my chest. I closed my eyes, inhaled the steam, and for one perfect second I just savored it - no guilt, no memories, just the taste.
Bab Populer