My husband loved coffee. I like coffee. But I loved coffee when my husband made it.
For my husband, making a perfect cappuccino was an ongoing quest. I always thought each one was perfect. He would brew the coffee, steam and froth the milk, talking to himself about how the process was going. He chose a mug that was just right for the mood of the day and pour in just the right amount of espresso. Then he would spoon the frothy milk on top, taking care to create an artistic presentation. Sometimes he sprinkled on just a touch of cinnamon, nutmeg, or vanilla powder. He would deliver it with a flourish (and a kiss, the sweetest part), and step back to await the reaction at the first taste. It was wonderful, and I always tried to find new and better words to let him know. Of course, the coffee really was delicious, but it was the love and joy, the passion he gave it that truly made it special. I miss it so much, even after years.
Can you smell the coffee now? I think I do.