Fell in Love With a Man Who Hates Coffee. I Made It My Mission to Break Him.
Chapter One: The Brunch Betrayal
I met him on a dating app. His profile said things like “doesn’t take life too seriously,” “loves long hikes,” and “no coffee for me, thanks.”
I assumed it was a joke.
No one really hates coffee.
That’s like hating libraries or hugs.
On our first date—cute brunch spot, sunlight on the patio, fairy lights indoors—I ordered an oat milk cappuccino.
He ordered orange juice.
Just juice.
Not a mimosa. Not a ginger elixir.
Just... juice.
“Wait,” I said, “you don’t drink coffee?”
He grinned. “Nope. Never got into it.”
Something in my chest cracked like an over-roasted bean.
But I smiled.
Because sometimes the best stories start with a flaw.
Chapter Two: I Introduce the First Bean
He came over that weekend for bagels and something I called “breakfast ambiance.”
I handed him a mug shaped like a bear.
Inside: a soft, harmless latte.
Oat milk.
Vanilla.
Cinnamon.
A drink that whispered "This isn’t coffee—it’s love in a mug."
He gave me side-eye but sipped.
“It’s… not bad,” he admitted.
I nodded, playing cool, but internally?
I screamed. Because this is how it begins. With a sip. A smirk. And a seed of doubt.
Chapter Three: The French Press and the Turning Point
For his birthday, I bought him a French press.
He laughed. “Is this a challenge?”
I said, “No. It’s a metaphor.”
(It was definitely a challenge.)
That night, I brewed him a single-origin dark roast with notes of caramel and grief.
He tasted it.
Then he kissed me.
Then he said nothing for a full 90 seconds.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I think I like it,” he said.
And that was the night I knew I had him.
Not just emotionally.
Biochemically.
Chapter Four: The Morning That Changed Everything
It was raining.
He had a headache.
The power flickered.
I handed him a mug—no milk, no sugar.
Just pour-over. Rich. Deep. Unapologetic.
He took a sip.
Paused.
“What is this?”
“It’s called acceptance,” I whispered.
He finished the cup.
Then he cleaned the mug.
Then he asked, “Do we have any of that cinnamon one too?”
I nodded like I wasn’t internally throwing confetti.
Chapter Five: Love and Caffeine Are Addictive
Now?
He grinds his own beans.
He watches pour-over tutorials.
He’s subscribed to a monthly bean box.
He texts me from airports: “They’re using a blade grinder. Pray for me.”
And every time I see him swirl his mug and inhale like it’s holy incense, I remember:
He said he hated coffee.
But he didn’t.
He just hadn’t met the right cup yet.
🛒 Coffee That Could Change a Man:
📣 Your Turn
Have you ever seduced someone with steam and crema? Converted a non-believer?
Drop your stories below.
If you’re still working on someone… don’t give up.
Great things take time.
Especially the good brews.