cappuccino I think I’ve ever seen. I stilled, drinking him in, long dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks. He looked up, caught me staring at him, and beamed.
“There she is. Wake up, sleepy head, we’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
“Is that what I think it is?”
“It wants to be a cinnamon cappuccino. Whether or not it is, is debatable. The fancy coffee machine and I had a few words earlier in the kitchen. So I can’t vouch for this concoction, other than to say I’m almost certain it has caffeine.”
"Is it for me?"
"Oh, definitely."
"Then hand it over, handsome." I sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet up with me, and took the mug from him, sipping gingerly.
“How is it?” he asked, his expression dubious.
“Cinnamon jet fuel,” I replied, licking my lips. “It may not be a cappuccino, but it is the best quadruple espresso I’ve ever had.”
“Damn,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. I couldn’t help but notice how extra adorable he was when annoyed.
“You’ve invented a new drink,” I said. “We can call it the crackuccino. We’ll make a fortune.”
“You’re being kind,” he said, bending over to kiss me on the nose before turning to head into the bathroom. I could hear him in there, dragging suitcases from the closet and shuffling toiletries. “Best not drink all of it,” he called. “We can’t have your heart exploding on the drive into town. Bloody machine.”
“Pretty sure that happened already. Like, twenty times in the last two days, in fact,” I muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing!” I called back as he emerged from the bathroom, dragging the suitcases behind him.
“I don’t want to rush you—” he said.
“But?”
“We’ve got a noon appointment at a boutique in Skysdale, which I’m told is on our return route home.”
“It is, sort of, if we take Route 1,” I said. “The coastal highway. Very scenic.”
“Oh good,” he said, digging his phone out of his trouser pocket to look at the screen. “Yes, that’s the route Max has laid for us.”
“Who’s Max?” I took another sip of coffee. It was actually pretty tasty.
“My mother’s concierge friend I mentioned. I emailed him last night, asked him to find us the best shopping on short notice. He said there’s a rather nice dress shop in Skysdale, but it’s appointment only during the holidays so we’ll have to hurry if we want to make it.”
“What’s the name of the shop?” I asked, excitement ping-ponging in my chest.
“Something to do with sky,” he said, dragging his suitcase to the bedroom door.
“A Piece of Sky?” I asked.
“That’s the one.”
“Oh my god!” I squealed. “Charlie will die when I tell her!”
“Why’s that?”
“That shop is famous. It’s full of vintage couture and one-off pieces. It’s like half museum, half dress shop, and I’ve heard it’s amazing. Celebrities shop there.”
“Celebrities fly to a little town in Maine to shop for dresses?”
“Well, actually I bet it’s their stylists that do that. But yeah I heard they loan dresses for movies, and somebody I know swore they saw Karl Lagerfeld in there.”
“Well, Max is pretty connected,” he said, shrugging.
“Tell him thank you for me. Charlotte and I have always wanted to go, but we never have. Oh, she’s going to just die.”
“I’m glad I could help facilitate your sister’s death by envy.” He laughed and threw my robe at me. “Get ready, we leave in an hour.”
I caught the robe and hugged it to my chest, setting the mug down on the bedside table, my gaze flitting from the lamp, to the bed, to the curtains that framed the four posters, the wall of windows at the end of the room. The water looked so pretty today, sparkling in the morning light. I sighed. I couldn’t wait to spend more time with him, but I also regretted leaving this place. This beautiful, magical house where I fell in love. Would things be the same between us when we left
“There she is. Wake up, sleepy head, we’ve got a full day ahead of us.”
“Is that what I think it is?”
“It wants to be a cinnamon cappuccino. Whether or not it is, is debatable. The fancy coffee machine and I had a few words earlier in the kitchen. So I can’t vouch for this concoction, other than to say I’m almost certain it has caffeine.”
"Is it for me?"
"Oh, definitely."
"Then hand it over, handsome." I sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet up with me, and took the mug from him, sipping gingerly.
“How is it?” he asked, his expression dubious.
“Cinnamon jet fuel,” I replied, licking my lips. “It may not be a cappuccino, but it is the best quadruple espresso I’ve ever had.”
“Damn,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. I couldn’t help but notice how extra adorable he was when annoyed.
“You’ve invented a new drink,” I said. “We can call it the crackuccino. We’ll make a fortune.”
“You’re being kind,” he said, bending over to kiss me on the nose before turning to head into the bathroom. I could hear him in there, dragging suitcases from the closet and shuffling toiletries. “Best not drink all of it,” he called. “We can’t have your heart exploding on the drive into town. Bloody machine.”
“Pretty sure that happened already. Like, twenty times in the last two days, in fact,” I muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing!” I called back as he emerged from the bathroom, dragging the suitcases behind him.
“I don’t want to rush you—” he said.
“But?”
“We’ve got a noon appointment at a boutique in Skysdale, which I’m told is on our return route home.”
“It is, sort of, if we take Route 1,” I said. “The coastal highway. Very scenic.”
“Oh good,” he said, digging his phone out of his trouser pocket to look at the screen. “Yes, that’s the route Max has laid for us.”
“Who’s Max?” I took another sip of coffee. It was actually pretty tasty.
“My mother’s concierge friend I mentioned. I emailed him last night, asked him to find us the best shopping on short notice. He said there’s a rather nice dress shop in Skysdale, but it’s appointment only during the holidays so we’ll have to hurry if we want to make it.”
“What’s the name of the shop?” I asked, excitement ping-ponging in my chest.
“Something to do with sky,” he said, dragging his suitcase to the bedroom door.
“A Piece of Sky?” I asked.
“That’s the one.”
“Oh my god!” I squealed. “Charlie will die when I tell her!”
“Why’s that?”
“That shop is famous. It’s full of vintage couture and one-off pieces. It’s like half museum, half dress shop, and I’ve heard it’s amazing. Celebrities shop there.”
“Celebrities fly to a little town in Maine to shop for dresses?”
“Well, actually I bet it’s their stylists that do that. But yeah I heard they loan dresses for movies, and somebody I know swore they saw Karl Lagerfeld in there.”
“Well, Max is pretty connected,” he said, shrugging.
“Tell him thank you for me. Charlotte and I have always wanted to go, but we never have. Oh, she’s going to just die.”
“I’m glad I could help facilitate your sister’s death by envy.” He laughed and threw my robe at me. “Get ready, we leave in an hour.”
I caught the robe and hugged it to my chest, setting the mug down on the bedside table, my gaze flitting from the lamp, to the bed, to the curtains that framed the four posters, the wall of windows at the end of the room. The water looked so pretty today, sparkling in the morning light. I sighed. I couldn’t wait to spend more time with him, but I also regretted leaving this place. This beautiful, magical house where I fell in love. Would things be the same between us when we left
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