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Luca
It was mid-morning, almost eleven, when Frankie finally emerged from the bedroom.
I’d already run, took a dip into the ocean to cool off, and showered in the outdoor shower before
returning to the deck to drink coffee and wait for her to wake up.
I was now on my third cup of coffee—thank God they’d stocked the house with essentials such as
coffee and coffee cups—when she finally showed her sleepy little head.
I grinned at the way she looked but didn’t comment.
“Shut up,” she said. “I didn’t feel like brushing it.”
I expected her to take the seat next to me.
Instead, she bypassed the seat and came right to me.
She climbed right into my lap and laid her head onto my chest, her hand reaching out to snag my
coffee.
After taking a long sip, she said, “How did you know that you liked your coffee like that?”
That was a good question.
“I’m still learning,” I admitted. “It’s close, but still not there.”
She took another sip before handing it back.
“Did you add two sugars?” she asked.
I sifted my hand through her wild hair, working the knots and snags out as I replied.
“I did,” I confirmed.
“What about a splash of half and half?” she wondered.
“I used milk,” I admitted.
She pressed her lips to my throat and said, “Try half and half. That’s what you used to like.” She
paused. “Where did you find milk?”
I grinned at the sound of disgust in her tone.
“I didn’t find any milk,” I admitted. “They had powdered milk next to the coffee.”
She made a humming sound, then snuggled in even deeper.
I finished off the rest of my coffee and rested the cup on the railing, then utilized both hands by wrapping them around her and pulling her in even tighter to my chest.
We stayed like that for a long time. Me holding her, and her laying her head on my chest and
running her fingers absently over my scars.
It was only when I heard her stomach growl that I thought about food.
