Chapter 11 Coffee and Cinnamon
Coffee and Cinnamon
Liam
The apartment was quiet. Well, it was early.
I tugged on a hoodie and stepped onto the cold tile floor.
I loaded the beans and hit the brew cycle, the machine whirring softly to life.
Reached into the cupboard and pulled out two mugs and the cinnamon she likes. Set it beside the mug she always uses.
As the coffee brewed, I leaned against the counter and stared at the far wall. Running the reel again, last night, Maeve’s voice on the phone, the look on Claire’s face when we realized it wasn’t Huntington’s. Relief, plain and simple.
Claire had touched her forehead to my shoulder. Then she apologized, like she wasn’t allowed to need comfort. She had to make sure I knew it was my moment, not hers.
So I hugged her. Was I trying to comfort her? I don’t even remember making the decision. My arms just... moved. Like they had a mind of their own.
The stress of not knowing what was going on with Maeve had me on autopilot. First the hug, then the balcony.
I was surprised to see her. That she was still awake. The next thing I remember, I was outside too. Invading her space.
I could’ve just offered to make her dinner or said thanks like a normal person.
What did I say? ‘You make things better.’ Does that even sound like thank you?
She did make things better, for Maeve, for me, for the mess of this past week.
The steam from my cup curled up. I stood there, still leaning on the counter, waiting for the familiar sound of her door opening. The smell of coffee usually summoned a certain woman, sleepy hair, desperate for caffeine, somehow still kind of beautiful.
A few moments later, I heard the click of a door opening and the soft thuds of slippers against the hardwood.
"Hey," she said walking into the kitchen. Same hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair in that half-twisted thing she somehow managed to make look intentional.
"Morning," I said, gesturing toward the mug. "Cinnamon’s already out."
She smiled. "You make a pretty good roommate."
I smiled and shook my head.
She poured her coffee. I watched her swirl the cinnamon in, slow and precise, then take that first cautious sip like she didn’t quite trust it not to burn her. Her nose crinkled. Then came that soft, satisfied hum I looked forward to.
I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. "You home for dinner tonight?"
She glanced over, brows raised. "Are you checking up on me?"
I rubbed the back of my neck. "No. I mean, yes. I mean—"
She grinned, clearly enjoying the flustered mess I’d become.
I sighed. "I was going to make dinner. To say thanks. For everything."
"That’s not necessary," she said, but her voice had softened.
I looked down, suddenly very interested in my mug. I took a sip of my coffee to avoid looking at her. “Yeah. I figured you’d say that.”
She must’ve caught my discomfort, because her next words came with a teasing lilt. "Well, what are you thinking of making?"
I glanced up. She was smiling, one eyebrow raised like she knew I would take the bait.
"So now you’ll only say yes if you like the menu?"
She shrugged. "Seems fair."
"You know you’ll love whatever I make.”
She narrowed her eyes, giving me the ‘Is that so’ face.
"Fine. I was thinking of seafood risotto.”
“You had me at risotto.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out.
She put a hand to her chest, all dramatic. "It’s true. My microwave meals, while convenient, do not hold a candle to your elaborate concoctions. There. I said it. Happy?”
I smirked. "I knew you’d come around."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "On one condition."
That tone had me instantly on guard. "What?"
"Have you shopped for supplies yet?"
She is going to offer to go shopping for me.
No way. I'm not risking her picking up dried herbs.
“Not yet. Planning to go this morning, before practice.”
"Then take me shopping with you."
That caught me off guard.
I blinked. "You don’t have to come. I mean, I’ve got it covered."
I always shop alone.
I like shopping alone.
Well, I never really had anyone to shop with.
I hesitated. Part of me still wanted to tell her no. I have my spots, my rhythm.
She tilted her head. "I want to learn how to pick the ripest fruit. Freshest vegetables. You know, your system."
I paused. She had a point. It was reasonable.
And that look didn’t help. I nodded slowly.
"Alright. You’re on."
She smiled and reached for her mug. "Then it’s a deal. I’ll clear my calendar for your gourmet magical mystery tour."
"You’d better."
She took her coffee and headed toward her room, mentioning a few work calls she had to prep for.
The idea of risotto had popped out of my mouth, probably because of that first day with Arturo. I had been trying to convince him it was the best risotto he’d ever had.
Or maybe I had been trying to impress the beautiful woman stranded by a no-show real estate agent.
She’d barely looked at me then. Now here she was, inviting herself along to go grocery shopping.
Focus.
Grocery list.
I found myself wondering how much saffron I had left. If Omar at the fish counter would have the scallops I liked. I stayed in the kitchen, flipping open the notes app on my phone, even though I didn’t need a list. I could cook this blindfolded.
But I was shopping for two now.