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When Ben smiles and starts off down the hall toward the galley, I follow. Because, as it turns out, I reallyshouldhave coffee before doing other human things.
Tao is in the galley bustling about, and he looks up to offer us a quick smile. There are three cutting boards, all with various ingredients in states of being chopped or diced orwhatevered. I don’t know my culinary terms. Nor do I recognize all the vegetables he’s working on. But I’m already excited about whatever we’ll be eating today.
“There’s a fresh pot of coffee,” Tao says. “But if you want to be fancy, you can make yourself a latte or cappuccino.”
“There’s an espresso machine?” I ask, feeling a sense of wonder. Then I spot it.
How did I not notice it sitting on the counter when I was here last night? I recognize the brand because while I may not know my culinary things, I do know my coffee. This is a La Spaziale—the kind of machine I’d never even dream about because it’ssoexpensive.
“You were holding out on me last night, Tao,” I accuse.
He only laughs, and I practically float toward the machine, then run my hands along the gleaming chrome face. “Hello, gorgeous.”
Ben snorts, coming up beside me and turning it on. “I have a whole yacht, and the thing you’re most impressed with is the espresso machine?”
“Yes.”
Tao laughs. “Knock yourself out. You know how to use it, yeah, boss?”
“I’m passable,” Ben says, eyeing the machine.
“Can I?” I ask.
Ben waves a hand, then takes a seat at the counter, popping something from one of the cutting boards into his mouth. “Knock yourself out.”
Tao slaps at Ben’s hand. “Hey! Stay out of my way.”
“What would you like?” I ask Ben.
“Can you make a cortado?”
I give him a dirty look because I know from his mischievous grin that he’s testing me. “Yes. Tao?”
The chef blinks in surprise, then smiles. “Double espresso. Thanks.”
I locate the milk and the beans and grinder, getting right to work. Using the machine is like second nature, despite the fact that it’s been years since I’ve used a real espresso machine. The cheaper kind I have at home is not hardlined into the plumbing to have the right amount of pressure, so it doesn’t really count. This machine, on the other hand, has nine bars, the optimal pressure for the optimal shot of espresso.
There’s something so comforting about the whole process. Before I landed my current gig, I worked mornings at a local coffee shop. I love the smell and even the hissing roar of the machine. It feels like home.
“Mugs?” I ask Ben, who gets up to retrieve them, standing far too close as he does.
“Are these okay?” he asks in a low rumble near my ear.
The smell of him mixed with the smell of espresso iskilling me. I’m human and only have so much resistance I can employ.
I give him a shove. “They’ll do.”
The three white mugs are all the same size—definitely not what you’d use for these specific drinks—but who cares. Tao laughs when I hand him a mug with the double espresso barely filling it a fourth of the way.
“Blame your boss,” I tell him, but he downs the espresso in a few quick swallows.
“She’s all yours,” Tao says, tipping his mug toward the machine. “Any time you want to fire her up.”
“Thank you. I suspect you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” I hand Ben his mug. “And here’s your cortado.”
Ben smiles down at his drink, where I’ve made a leaf pattern in the foam. “Someone’s had some experience,” he says.
“A little.”
