Whiskey Latte

January, 2017

January, 2017

Ingrid poured the hot coffee into her bamboo travel mug, added two teaspoons of sugar, a splash of cold milk and a dash of whiskey, then stirred until the dark brown smoothened into café au lait. She licked the spoon clean before she dropped it into the sink on her way to the fridge. Her lunch sat on the middle shelf, packed late last night, just before she turned in for the day. She took it out, replaced the milk and left her lunch on the table.

With her whiskey latte steaming on the kitchen countertop, Ingrid went out in the hallway to put her shoes on and slipped into her coat. Then she remembered there was someone still sleeping in her bed. Grabbing her house keys, she tiptoed into the bedroom and leaned over the young man sprawled on her sheets.

"Dale," she whispered, brushing her knuckles on his cheek. "Hey, Dale."

He moved and mumbled, curling up towards her.

"I've gotta go. Here." She dangled the keys.

He frowned. It made her smile.

"Nightstand," she said and dropped the keys by his phone. "You might want to get up and lock the front door after me."

Dale opened his eyes. "I'll do that in five."

Ingrid chuckled. "Yeah, right." She checked her watch. "Shit, I have to run. See ya."

Dale gave a sleepy smile. "Take care, baby. Love you."

Ingrid shuddered and grimaced as she passed out of Dale's sight through the hallway. In the kitchen, she screwed the cap on her mug, hoisted her handbag and bolted. With a bit of luck, she might still catch the last train capable of getting her to work in time.

She hurried as much as her coffee and the traffic allowed her to. The station was just across the street, but cars and cyclists had a particular talent for getting in the way specifically when she was in a rush. As she climbed the stairs to the platform, realisation hit her hard and fast, like the approaching train.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath and heaved a sigh of defeat. She could visualise her lunchbox sitting on her kitchen table as she took a hearty swig from her liquored coffee. It burned her tongue and throat and she cursed herself again.

If only Dale hadn't slept over on a weekday. He'd ruined her whole routine.

She had to squeeze into the packed train, feet firmly planted into the ground. Her free hand managed to grab a pole for support, but her bag hung heavy from her elbow. She took half a step forward in the crowd.

Her leg touched the knee of the tall fellow in the seat. He looked up from his smartphone. His lips fought to suppress a grin, but Ingrid had seen that expression one too many times. She smiled down at him. All of a sudden, his smartphone was no longer that interesting.

The train slowed down and came to a rough stop. Ingrid's foot accidentally slipped between his legs. She held her hot mug to her chest and made a surprised face when she nearly tripped into his lap.

"Oh, entschuldigen Sie, bitte," she apologised.

He smiled and stood up. "Kein Thema."

She found herself within the range of his body heat and did not step away.

"Bitte," he pointed to his seat.

"Oh, vielen Dank!" she thanked him and sat down.

Another gulp of coffee and her loose shirt collar became simply unbearable. She undid the first two buttons and gathered all her hair back, revealing her bare neck and providing the kind stranger with a generous glimpse into her cleavage.