Page 3 of The Reason I Married Him
I put it under the umbrella of a way to poison your enemies, grow a mustache in under thirty minutes, and get rid of any sinus infection with one sniff.
A dangerous and hazardous artifact to society.
And you must be thinking, who put you in charge of ranking coffee? Let me tell you, being the avid coffee drinker and frequenter of small business coffee shops, I’m well versed in the multitude of coffee flavors. Clearwater Coffee is like roadkill in liquid form.
One sip was all it took for me to make my assessment. This was not something I planned on drinking ever again. It was evident by the way I gagged, shoved her off my lap, and ran to the sink, where I directed my mouth under the faucet and rinsed it out, nearly drowning myself.
Even after that, it took exactly thirty-two hours and eleven minutes for my tongue to forgive me and allow me to taste other things again.
You can imagine how she took that response, though.
She didn’t talk to me for a month.
What can I say? Clearwater Coffee is made from tar, and I’m not good at faking it.
I considered it a minor loss. I wasn’t too hurt because, let’s be honest, I got laid.
I went on with my daily life, writing, researching, and looking up creepy facts on the Internet that could borderline get me thrown in jail.
Until one day, at the same coffee shop I met Cadance before, she ran into me again. Thankfully, when she confronted me, I was drinking tea and told her I was sorry about the coffee gagging. I told her I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, so I wasn’tused to such a rich coffee flavor. Lies . . . so many lies, but like I said, she was hot. And besides the coffee, I’d had a good night with her.
To my surprise, she giggled, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and said it was all right.
I invited her to sit with me.
And then from there, we dated.
Fell in love.
I proposed.
She said yes.
And we planned a wedding.
I was the happiest I had ever been, ready to make a life with this woman—coffee-free, which was a sacrifice I was willing to make—until the night before our wedding.
I know what you’re wondering. Did she walk in on me drinking coffee, become thoroughly insulted, and call off the wedding? Hell, I wish. I think that would have made the blow much easier to accept.
Nope. Instead, she came up to me wearing her veil, tears streaming down her face and a wobbly lip holding back her sobs. At first, I thought something really wrong had happened, like one of her parents was sick.
Maybe the coffee wasn’t delivered for the wedding guests who were attending—the poor guests had no idea what was coming for them.
But, no.
She was upset that she’d let our relationship go this long—to the point of getting married—because she didn’t love me like she thought she should.
Yup.
She didn’t love me.
That was it. Plain and simple. I had love in the tank for her, but she was running on empty for me.
Do I wish she had told me sooner? Yeah.
Do I wonder where I went wrong?
Every fucking minute of every day since she called off the wedding.
