He carefully hands me the piping hot coffee and smiles at me. The sleeves of my knitted sweater pulled over my hands, I cradle the mug between my hands and stomach. I let my eyes flutter closed and feel the warmth flow through the mug and my sweater, and into my skin. He takes a seat next to me with a mug of his own and we quietly listen to the skittering of dry leaves down the street. The wind is light, but present enough to raise goosebumps even under the weight of my sweater.
