Evenin'. Sorry this is a few days' late...RL and all.
*****************
Circle JE Ranch, April, 1995
Jack leaned against the counter, cup close to his lips, its steaming contents warming his face. His body felt like leaning, not sitting, this particular morning. Not an unusual occurrence. His eyes hadn’t focused completely, and he was enjoying the quiet stillness of the early morning. Sun hadn’t made its appearance yet, but soon would, could tell by the shifting color of the sky outside the kitchen windows. He stifled a yawn, and took a sip.
‘Nothin' like a good cup a joe first thing in the mornin'. Well, second best thing, anyway, next to wakin' up tangled in Ennis’ arms and legs. Well, third best thing, anyway, next to wakin' up with Ennis strokin' me and whisperin' inta my ear, and slowly…’
“Mornin', Jack. You’re up mighty early.”
“Mornin' yourself, bud. Couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I did. Worn out after that early exercise.”
“Humpf,” he replied with a smirk, followed by a smile, which was covered by a warm good morning you look beautiful even if your hair is sticking out all over the place and you taste like toothpaste and coffee kiss.
“Where’s the coffee? Pot’s empty.”
“Over on the counter next to the stove, in that glass pot. Called a French press. Got it at Murchison’s last weekend. Ya put in exactly three scoops of coffee…”
“Exactly?”
“Well, 'proximately, seein’s how I added some extra, just because, like I always do…and then ya fill it up with boilin' water and put on the top. After awhile, ya push down on that thing there on top, pushes the grounds to the bottom. Then ya pour a cup. Simple, even you c’n do it.”
After taking sip, Ennis said, “Tastes good, reminds me a Brokeback, and our fishing trips. Looks like another thing I’m gonna like about the French.”
“Such as?”
“French press coffee pots…” arm around Jack’s waist, “…French roast coffee…” his coffee cup on the counter, “…French fries…” other hand putting Jack’s cup on the counter “…French Lace roses…” other hand now on the back of Jack’s neck, “…French bread…” lips brushing across a cheek towards their intended destination, “…but most of all, French kisses…” mouth covering mouth, getting as good as he gave.
Coming up for air, arms around Ennis' neck, Jack added, “French last names…”
“Not French, Italian, told ya that b’fore.”
“Well, humor me, cowboy.”
“Done that already for a lotta years, rodeo.”
“Lookin' forward to a lot more, too.”
“You bet.”
And they stood holding each other as the rays of the morning sun slowly added their own warmth to the kitchen.