He hits a button, and it comes to life with a loud rumble. I stand, mouth dropped open, as he uses the machine, effortlessly frothing milk. He dumps several scoops of sugar into my cup, and his arm moves in tightly controlled gestures as he combines the frothed milk with the espresso. My mind is so monumentally surprised at the scene that’s playing out for me it takes a second to catch up and realize he made it exactly how I order them at a fancy coffee shop. “How did you know—” Damon thrusts the warm mug into my hand, cutting me off. “You have half an hour to get ready. I thought it would
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