Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen. I leaned against the counter, the list tucked into my apron pocket. He was already outside, meticulously polishing his vintage car, oblivious to my newfound knowledge.

"Brew the perfect cup of coffee." He, who consistently made the weakest, most bitter brew imaginable. I, on the other hand, had spent years perfecting the art. A sense of gentle amusement warmed me.

"Build a treehouse." I’d always wanted a treehouse. I’d also always had a far more sensible mind. The fact was plain in my mind.