gold-lip

Foam

be-a-warrior-not-a-worrier

*clears throat* Finding the best capuccino in the world and foam beards/noses *leaves ginning*

Look, I even made one so I could get into the spirit!



“You have a bit of foam on your-your lip,” Gold told her after watching her drink from her cup for three minutes.

The woman looked up at him, her blue eyes startled at his voice and her mouth hanging open before the tip of her pink tongue darted out to lick at the corner of her mouth.

“No, it’s…” He circled his mouth with a finger. “All over.”

Her face flushed prettily, turning a shade of pink that was much more charming than the lurid vinyl hearts in the windows of the coffee shop they were sitting in.

“I— Yeah, it’s a bit foamy, cappuccinos,” she said, self-consciously wiping at her mouth with a paper napkin.

“I have heard that they are,” he said in mock seriousness, his eyes giving away the joke even as he trained his mouth into a stern line.

She giggled at  him, shaking her head helplessly. “Well, I appreciate the help anyway,” she said with a brilliant smile. “And, uh, if you want, I’ll treat you to one yourself,” she added, shyly.

He blinked at her then gave her a small smile himself, taken aback at her forwardness. He didn’t know how to tell her that he owned the coffee shop — not just this store, but the entire franchise the world over. He didn’t want to tell her, not even the employees knew who he was as he’d only stopped in on his way to a conference for a cup of coffee and to scout out how the store treated its customers. Going undercover, you might say.

“That’s very kind of you, Miss…”

“My name’s Belle,” she said, leaning over with her hand out. Her hair caught the light just then, the red highlights shining like a halo.

He took it, her grip refreshingly strong as he replied, “I’m Bartholomew.”

“Bartholomew! That’s quite a mouthful,” she said, leaning back again.

“So’s that coffee,” he told her, with a lift of a brow. His name had never been a favorite of his, but the way Belle’s pretty lips shaped the vowels made him almost like it.

Her eyes smiled at him as she lifted her cup and took a deliberately deep sip, the foam coating her upper lip shamelessly, gesturing with her other hand for him to take a seat.

He pulled the chair out and sat down, the conference forgotten as he watched this tiny slip of a woman go up and order a cappuccino and put another four dollars and seventy-five cents into his profits.

He’d get the next round.