Kevin made the best coffee for me this morning. I mean the best.
Now, in truth, I put the coffee grounds in last night and preset the brew to start at 7 AM, but when I was running late because I’m ever the procrastinator when it comes to leaving the house in the morning, Kevin took the initiative to fill up my mug and put it on the table by my purse. (He knows my addiction—just another reason that I love him.)
I grabbed it as I ran out the door and didn’t take a sip until I was on I-380 in stalled traffic.
It. Was. Delicious.
I emailed him when I got to work to tell him that he made the best coffee ever, he wondered if that means he has to do it every morning. When I asked him the secret, he said that he probably put more creamer in than I usually do. No wonder the gooey sweetness!
In other coffee news, Kevin claims he doesn’t like and/or drink coffee. Yet with just the two of us at home, my mug suddenly showed up empty on Saturday morning when I just poured myself a cup and asked if he wanted one. (His response: “No thanks.”) That’s case in point number one. Number two case in point is that whenever I go out for coffee, he always wants me to bring him home “a treat.” I’ve figured out he likes the sweets so I usually grab him a s’mores or caramel frappe. He downs it like it’s water. I think he is a closet addict. Come clean, my love. Come clean.
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