He set his mug on the counter, picked up the empty carafe and poured a cup of nothing. Raising it to his lips, he breathed invisible steam and anticipated liquid scald. That’s when he woke up. She must have been running late. The filter drawer limped toward him begging for grounds. Maybe they were out of beans. He opened the cupboard and removed the sealed bag of beans, grinding some for today and tomorrow, in case she was late again. He filled the carafe with water and poured it into the machine, halting at the overflow. She had filled the water, inserted the filter, but not ground the beans.
Mail blanketed the counter and he sorted it into piles while he waited for the bell. He placed the bills in her purse and tossed the junk mail. The timer beeped and he poured a new cup, savoring the scald. Lounging, he sipped and read. The front door leaked a sunshine stripe across the rug. Tripping over her laptop bag, he closed the door and returned to his morning ritual. He would email from the office to tease her about oversleeping.
I really enjoyed this – a perfect little vignette of something so ordinary and true and funny. Thank you for posting.
Thanks! I told my husband I was going to write a horror story because there was no coffee made when I woke up this morning.
She’s gone. That teach her to forget.