Day 74: Coffee

Chris walks out of the convenience store toward the truck with a coffee in each hand. I’m tired (hungover, if you must know), but there’s something about his walk, his denim-clad thighs, his steel-toed boots that wakes me right up.

It’s just easier to carpool to the job site, I’d told him, and he’d agreed.

I push the passenger door open from the inside, and he steps up and in, a freshly showered, woodsy smell wafting in with him. Goddamn.

“Morning,” he says, as our fingers touch briefly around my cup.

We sit, sipping. The air between us hums.

“Morning.”

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