Revision: Morning Coffee
Three and a half months pregnant and all of a sudden, the gut wrenching morning sickness had changed from one breath to the next. I had almost gotten used to the need to vomit at any smell, regardless of how fond of it I had been before being pregnant; God only knew how many times I had to beg off on cooking supper because the smell of raw meat had made my stomach clench in horror. I had been exhausted, queasy, and generally unhappy. For all the pain and sorrow I had been going through, I would have thought to have something to show for it, but instead my stomach was nearly as flat as it had always been.
The smell of freshly brewed English Toffee coffee filled the air and instead of the urge to vomit, I found myself inhaling deeply. The scent flooded the senses with a sense of peace and homecoming, taunting me with its nearness. The rich warmth of the smell of coffee caressed me, a gentle touch that reminded of cold winter nights curled up in front of the fire with my husband.
I glanced over at my husband, Mark, ready to share my thrilling revelation with him when I paused, caught up in his easy beauty. Blond hair, a little shaggy, and in desperate need of a haircut, fell into his chillingly bright blue eyes, and his lips looked soft and tender. It was as though I was seeing him for the first time all over again, and I smiled, musing on how breathtaking he looked first thing in the morning. Sleep still clung to him, eyes hooded against the light of morning, shadow covering his strong jaw. Beautiful, I breathed, and as he took a sip of his coffee, I swallowed heavily.
There, clinging to his perfect lower lip, a drop of coffee lingered, tantalizing, taunting, and tempting me. Soft, wet brown traveled across the pale pink of his lips, caressing them, leaving behind a trail of heavenly coffee flavour. It tormented me as my vision narrowed until all I could see was those lips, with that single drop of coffee that hung poised, before the sight of his deep pink tongue darting out to catch the drop broke my vision.
Without thinking, I leaned forward and caught his lip between mine, halting the progress of his tongue, savouring the first taste of coffee to pass my lips in three months. It was perfection that I hadn’t expected, the taste of the coffee bursting in my mouth, flooding it with the combined taste of English Toffee, and the unique flavour of Mark. I’d forgotten the way he tasted, and took my time remembering just what I had been missing these past few months before pulling away.
Opening my eyes slowly, I was greeted by the sight of my husband as he breathed out on a sigh, smiling sleepily at me. I smiled in return, taking his cup and setting it to the side. There was time yet to return to the coffee—later.
