She normally wears jeans, an old T-shirt and one of my sweatshirts. I’ve given up trying to reclaim what’s mine and now go with the flow. She just has that ability to chuck on whatever she wants, style her hair with a twist and still make it all look effortlessly cool.
Her eyes though, deeper than winter pools, with a hint of sparkle as light reflects off the surface. A warm smile, that can make you instantly at ease, and freckles across her face that add a hint of childish mischief.
She has the same musical tastes as me, the same obscure bands no one else has heard of. We enjoy the same food and love cooking for each other. She likes to torture me with more spicey stuff to the point where my scalp itches. We enjoy getting into the same types of trouble, exploring and travelling to new wild places. And we think nothing of spending two weeks dirtbagging in the back of our van.
Our bodies and bones might groan sometimes with what we put them through but we’re two scruffy middle-aged adults acting like teenagers, and enjoying every moment we have together.
I moved to Bristol in 2016 and her coffee habit rubbed off on me. I always enjoyed the smell but hated the taste having only tried instant, not the good stuff. And now I have a habit, a routine.
Each crank of the coffee grinder by hand results in a crunch as beans are chewed into smaller flakes ready for brewing. Boiling the kettle to 90 degrees so as not to burn the grounds, I let the water settle in my black stainless steel Homgeek french press before pouring it into my dedicated coffee mug. If I’m feeling a bit sore I drop some mint-flavoured CBD oil in.
“Dirty little coffee fiend” she grins, entering the kitchen. She’s wearing my hoodie, of course.
“Piss off…..you want sugar?”
“Yeah, please” as she stands waiting for her fix.
I drop half a teaspoon in her mug, the one my Mum bought her last Christmas that says “wot a canny lass” on the side and pour coffee into both mugs. Stirring hers, I bang the spoon on the rim chuck it into the sink, and then hand her the cup.
“Cheers Pickle” she says, taking it and retreating to the living room.
I grab mine and follow, sinking onto the sofa next to her before we start doom-scrolling the news. Sharing quotes and stories, and occasionally sending each other a link to something interesting. It isn’t long before we look at the comments on a local community Facebook group.
“People are stupid,” I say as I read about local council plans to build a footbridge across a busy part of the river. Objections from the usual anti-bike brigade or those that think the original bridge should be knocked down and rebuilt, never mind that it stood there for over a hundred years.
Feeling mean I put my laptop down and sit back with my coffee. Sunlight streams through the front window, trapping a warm aura around her. A smile curls from the side of her face and she sticks out her tongue, the way she does to make herself look weird, not wanting the attention.
“What you looking at?” as she fixes me a fake scowl.
“You look pretty in this light”, smiling, but meaning every word of it.
“Fuck off you idiot” She looks away, smiling. Taking the compliment.
I get up and stick the radio on, more distractions. “Toast?” I ask and our day starts.