Marriage RomanceThat Man Making the Coffee

Marriage Romance Stories - The Man Making the Coffee

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I sit in the shadows and watch him every day when he comes in to make the coffee. He always looks like he doesn’t care that he has bed-head and a sheet crease across his face; he wears it well. He doesn’t look “professional” until about 9:30 or so. This kitchen moment is our little secret – even if he doesn’t know we shared it; it feels like nobody else knows this side of him and he reserves it just for me.

I’ve seen him without his shirt on. The man is ripped! He’s pushing 45 and he seriously has the body of a young Brad Pitt – Thelma & Louis or Fight Club B.P. (snaps his rubber gloves and asks, “ya wanna finish her off?”). I know, I know Brad Pitt is so five minutes ago and I go through phases where I don’t even like him. Dumping that sweet ‘Friends’ girl for sex-kitten-brother kisser-blood in a vial- wearing, Angelina. (uh,Yeah!!) But Mr. and Mrs. Smith was just on TV over the weekend and that movie lights me up – the man is fine and they have angry married sex – so hot.

And so is this man making coffee in the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that I’m watching him – knowing that under that wrinkled shirt lies the sinewy muscle tone of an Abercrombie ad.

He sits quietly and sips his coffee – perusing the daily news. He’s brilliant, by the way. He is absolutely idiot-savant about weird things that people really shouldn’t know - like the fact that the stellar disk of the Milky Way galaxy is approximately 100,000 light years in diameter, and is believed to be, on average, about 1,000 light years thick and while it’s not really relevant to anything most people care about – I just love that he knows. What if Alex Trebek called or something?

He is kind. I have seen him time and time again do things when nobody is looking that really matter to people and make the world a better place. I know that he bought a house for the refugees in Afghanistan. I shouldn’t know this as he didn’t do it to advertise his philanthropic spirit, but I know – and it makes me love him more.

Makes me love him more – did I just say that in my inside voice? I do. I love him more.

His friends follow his lead. That makes him a leader of men. His friends often times base their plans and decisions on what he has going and what he’s investing in. I think his friends are a bunch of “wanna-be’s”, but not in a bad way. In a, “it just makes me love this man more” way.

I love listening to him talk to people on the phone. He is so endearing, so witty, so… him. Even when I’m sitting close enough to hear his conversation I always wish I were on the other end of the phone – a recipient of his charming banter.

And the kicker – he treats his woman well. He speaks highly of her in front of others. He makes eye contact across the room and just smiles to her – assuring her that she’s the most cherished goddess on the plant. Oh – that look melts me, makes me yearn. It hurts it’s so good.

And I am the recipient. “He” is my husband.

I know how lucky I am and I know how lucky he is – we have each other. That man pouring his coffee in the wrinkled shirt and boxers is my husband of eight years. And oh yes, he is hot.

I’m going to go tell him so right now. Wait, check that. I’m going to kiss him full on the mouth with one hand behind his neck and one hand on his fabulous package and then I’m going to make love to him on the coffee bar. Sorry to cut this marriage romance story short…