Love Expectations (Season 1 of Nata and Phillip's Romance) ✔️

34. 'Are you ready?'

Nata

"Your package has been delivered," insists the app. The attached photo looks like my doorstep and my door mat. I emerge into the fall Chicago morning and shiver from the breeze, my PJs too flimsy for the lowering temperatures outside. I wrap my arms around my torso and peek under the bushes, in case this morning’s delivery was blown away by an unusually hard blast of wind. Not that it’s been that windy.

Nothing.

My teeth clatter, but hot punches of irritation hammer in my chest. I’ve heard about thieves stealing packages from people’s porches, but I’ve always lived in dorms or apartments in the US and never in a place where my packages were lying aroundin the open for anyone to see. I trudge to the sidewalk,  and examine the waist-high decorative grasses that border the path leading to the front porch.

No sign of the package.

The burning frustration travels from the middle of my chest into my gut and churns there.

Phillip said it’s a safe neighborhood, but I  guess package thieves prefer them, because other trusting people like me, who can’t bring in the package the moment it arrives, live here. I slam my door, plop on the couch, and pull out my phone to search for the closest pharmacy in the area.

A knock on the sliding door to the back yard distracts me from calculating how long it'll take to drive to the pharmacy and back, or if it’s worth running there and getting rid of some of the pent-up frustration. Phillip waves at me through the glass.

“It’s unlocked. Come on in,” I shout at him.

He enters with in one hand, the largest cup of coffee I’ve yet seen him make, and a box in the other.

His attempts at making coffee have become part of the routine. Every morning, at five a.m. on the weekdays and at leisurely seven or eight a.m. on the weekends like today, we take turns making coffee. I don’t have to spit out his attempts at lattes and cappuccinos anymore. Today’s offering even has a cute lopsided leaf design on it. 

“You’re venturing into coffee foam art?”

“Dabbling.” He sits on the couch next to me. “What won’t I do to impress a woman.”

“Count me impressed.” I sip the hot brew and hum. “You’re almost as good as me.”

“That is the best compliment I’ve received from you.” He wipes the foam that ends up on my nose because the cup is so wide it might be a bowl. A bowl of coffee. He might've just unlocked a new level in my coffee consumption.

“Enjoy," I say. "I don’t give those away lightly.”

“I’ll add it into my ‘compliments by Nata jar’.” Phillip sets the box, which was clearly opened before, on the coffee table.

“What’s this?”

He lifts both hands in the air. “I didn’t realize it was yours. I didn’t look at the label and just ripped it open.” 

I pick up the box. Natalia Boyko is printed next to our address in small enough letters that his explanation is plausible. Phillip. That’s who stolev my package. I gulp down the rest of the coffee and wish it were truly stolen, because I’d much rather the thieves enjoyed the contents than deal with the fact that Phillip saw what I ordered. Maybe he didn’t see everything I ordered.