Reginald frowned at the coffee cup like it held tea leaves of doom. I reached for it. “Let me get you tea instead. This is some exotic blend. I’m the only one who seems to enjoy it.”
He cradled the cup and twisted away. “Exotic?”
I shrugged. “So I was sold. Grown by some remote tribe in Peru.”
He sniffed it cautiously. “I don’t know the smell.”
“How would you?”
Shrewd eyes studied me. Then he drank. When he collapsed, the cup fell with him. It bounced but did not shatter.
I ran to it.
The leaves promised new romance.