"Dark Roast After Dusk"
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🌧️ The Storm
It started with rain.
Not a drizzle, not a mist. But rain. The kind that soaks through denim and conviction.
She was walking the trail even though it was closed. She knew.
He knew she knew.
From the ranger station window, he watched her, soaked and defiant.
So he stepped out into the storm and said the only words he could manage with a straight face:
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she said, blinking through wet lashes. “Do you have coffee?”
He did.
Of course he did.
🛖 The Cabin
His cabin was small. Quiet. Smelled like cedar, flannel, and a man who read silently by lantern.
He peeled off his poncho. She peeled off her coat. Neither mentioned the thunder that cracked through the sky.
He didn’t ask why she was hiking in the rain.
She didn’t ask why he had a French press and a vintage gooseneck kettle.
☕ The Ritual
He measured the beans slowly. Ground them by hand—old-school burr grinder.
The sound was meditative. Intimate. Her breathing slowed.
Water heated to a soft boil.
He poured it in circles. Slow at first, then steady.
The bloom rose like a secret.
He stirred once. Waited.
When he pressed the plunger down, he didn’t break eye contact.
“It’s strong,” he said.
“I like it bold,” she replied.
🔥 The TikToks
As she drank, she noticed his phone, face-up, unlocked.
Notifications lit up the screen:
@parkdaddy69 — “Ranger Danger 🌲👀🔥” just posted a new thirst trap.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Is this you?”
“The park needs engagement,” he said, not even embarrassed.
She nodded.
Clicked “follow.”
Took another sip.
The coffee was dark, almost smoky. Bittersweet, with a finish that lingered too long to be casual.
So did his hand, when it brushed hers.
🛌 The Embrace
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t even clear who moved first.
But there was heat.
There were fingers tracing collarbones.
Mouths close, but not desperate.
It wasn’t about passion—it was about recognition.
The kind of recognition that happens between two people who understand the sacred power of a perfect pour-over... and maybe something more.
☕ The Morning After
She woke up to coffee already brewing.
He wore the same ranger shirt, now half-buttoned, like a man who had absolutely no regrets.
“You staying long?” he asked.
“Only until the next storm,” she said, sipping.
The coffee was different.
Lighter roast. Brighter notes.
Still bold.
Still him.