They had been awake for hours, drifting in and out of consciousness, unspooling the sweet trivialities of their personal histories in sleepy whispers, and between stolen kisses. Just before noon, he arose to make coffee, making her promise that she’d be in the exact same place when he returned. They would continue the conversation. She raised three fingers in mock solemnity: scout’s honor, she said.

He brought the little bowls of black coffee into the bedroom with a pitcher of cream. She liked to watch her cup become a canvas, the cream and coffee mingling like watercolours before blending into rich caramel. She was waiting in the bed next to the open window, the down duvet ruffled around her like a snow drift. The bed linens were cool against her skin, crisp and clean, the satin white illuminating her face, her violet eyes, her tousled hair.

He knelt on the bed and put his lips to her temple, then her ear, then placed one of the cups in her eager hands. He breathed in her fresh, powdery skin. Gently, he tipped a thimble of cream into her coffee, then another, watching her delight in the dance of dark and light.

He went to the sideboard and pulled a record from its sleeve as she raised the coffee to her lips. She admired the care in his touch, the way he gingerly placed the album on the turntable and slowly lowered the needle: his gentle, deliberate, unhurried way of doing things. She admired the grey on his temples, the stubble on his jawline, the willowy muscles in his neck and shoulders.

He felt her watching him and shifted his gaze back to the bed, narrowing his eyes in faux accusation. As he approached her, she began to giggle, unable to contain her delight, and he matched her laughter with a silly grin. Smitten, neither could believe their good fortune.

Morning light spilled into the bedroom and the melody escaped out of the window and down to they city below. It was only Saturday, and neither had anywhere they had to be. They both knew they might linger there for hours, or the whole day, or two, dissolving into conversation, and pleasure, and one another, as naturally as cream into coffee.