cuentosIA
Ten Years and a Spilled Coffee
To Lucía, for ten years of coffee (and a spill or two).
Lucía arrived at a café in Valencia looking for a table where she could sort out her thoughts. Dani had already spread his notes beside a cup of coffee. As she passed, she tripped, and the coffee spilled over the pages.
—Oh no. Tell me that wasn’t the only copy.
Dani lifted a soaked page, waited for it to stop dripping, and replied:
—It was. But your number would still be legible if you wrote it in the margin.
Lucía burst out laughing before apologizing again.
For weeks, Lucía and Dani kept returning to the same café. She arrived with stories that began with a mix-up; he remembered how she liked her coffee and saved her a seat by the window. One day, they wandered without a destination until the shops closed.
—I’ve forgotten why we went out in the first place.
—Nothing important. We can keep walking.
Lucía realized it had been a long time since losing track of time had felt so peaceful. She asked him to walk with her a little longer.
Their first apartment had a window blind that got stuck and a kitchen where they could barely fit at the same time. Lucía wanted to move in anyway: she had opened the window and heard the bells while Dani checked the door locks, one by one. On their first night, they ate dinner sitting on the floor among unopened boxes.
—What if it turns out we don’t know how to live together?
Dani offered her the last piece of bread.
—Then we’ll learn. For now, we know how to share dinner.
Lucía moved a box aside to make room for him.
Canela came into Lucía’s life with a habit of stopping at every open door. Dani learned to wait while Lucía called her back; Lucía learned to always bring an extra bag. Their walks gave their days a new rhythm, even when work left them with little energy to talk.
One afternoon, when they came home soaked from the rain, Canela left a trail of water down the hall.
—I think she had more fun than we did.
Dani went to get a towel and came back with two.
In Lisbon, Lucía took a wrong turn while looking for the way back. Dani took out his phone, but she asked him to wait one more minute. They climbed a hill without knowing what they would find and reached a lookout just as the lights began to come on. Canela was in Valencia; for the first time in a long while, they could stand still without thinking about the next walk.
—I’m glad you didn’t look at the map.
—I had it open, he confessed.
Lucía rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed there until the air grew cool.
Ten years after that spilled coffee, Dani found one of the stained pages while they were tidying a drawer. Lucía recognized her number, scrawled in the margin. Canela waited by the door, eager to go out.
—You still have this?
—Yes. Though I don’t need the number anymore.
Lucía folded the page carefully and put it back where it had been. Then she picked up the keys, and the two of them went downstairs with Canela. Dani held out his hand; Lucía took it without breaking stride.
