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“Next to the fridge,” Esther said.
He filled it up with water from the tap. “I’m going to show you how much better this coffee is than that sludge you’re used to drinking. You’ll never look at coffee pods the same way again.”
“Sure, whatever,” she said, chewing on her thumbnail.
He seemed oddly perky for a guy who’d just been dumped. A little too perky, maybe. Almost manic, like he was working extra hard to pretend everything was great.
“Mugs?” he asked over his shoulder as he started the kettle.
Esther got out two mismatched mugs and set them in front of him.
His fingers drummed impatiently on the edge of the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil. “Thank you for doing this,” he said without looking at her.
“Getting out coffee mugs?”
He shook his head, frowning. “Helping me with my scripts.”
“You might want to hold your thanks until you hear what I have to say.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “That bad, huh?”
She’d considered just telling him what he wanted to hear—that this screenplay was great and only needed a few minor tweaks. But if she did that, he’d probably fail his class, get kicked out of grad school, and have to move back home with his parents. In order to actually help him, she had to be honest—as kindly as she could possibly manage.
“I liked it better than the last one,” she offered.
He turned away, lifting his messenger bag over his head as he went into the living room. “I guess that’s something.”
“It’s got potential,” she said, following him.
He dropped his messenger bag onto the couch and pulled out his laptop. “Great.” He hadn’t actually looked her in the eye since he’d walked in.
“Look, if you don’t want to do this—”
“I do,” he said, still looking down. “I need this. It’s just not very much fun.”
“Okay. As long as you’re not going to hate me.”
“No promises.” He looked at her, finally, mustering a thin smile. “But I’ll try.”
The electric kettle clicked off. “Water’s done,” Esther said.
He went back into the kitchen and started the insanely tedious process of pouring water over the grounds. Seriously, if they’d used Esther’s coffee pods, they’d both already be drinking their coffee by now.
When he was finally done brewing his special fancy coffee, he divided it up between the two mugs and pushed one toward her. “Try it.”
“I don’t like black coffee,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“You have to drink it black to appreciate the complexity of the flavor. Diluting it with sweeteners and additives is like putting fruit juice into wine.”
“You mean like sangria and mimosas and a hundred other popular cocktails?”
“Those were all invented as a way to make bad wine drinkable. You don’t use Dom Pérignon to make mimosas. This isn’t shitty donut shop coffee, it’s artisan-roasted beans. You want to be able to taste it.”
Esther rolled her eyes at him as she picked up the mug and blew across the top. It did smell amazing. She took a tentative sip and made a face. “I don’t like black coffee. I’m putting cream in this.”
“Barbarian,” Jonathan said as she poured half-and-half into her mug.
“Snob,” she shot back.
