Love Consequences (Season 2 of Nata & Phillip's Romance)

4: I might just be great with my hands

Nata

"First hold the cup in the non-dominant hand, and the pitcher in the dominant one." Martina lifts the pitcher in her right over her white porcelain cup. "Think of it like learning the steps of the dance. You need to practice, so your hands have the muscle memory to know what to do when you actually have to pour."

Martina's movements are steady and calm. "Step one: high and slow. Focus on pouring a pencil-wide stream of water into the center of the cup. Pitcher about an inch away from the top of the cup and you're just pouring the same width of the stream, so as your pitcher gets more empty, you tilt it more forward, so your stream isn't stopping or starting or stuttering. Go in small circles. It's harder than it looks."

She gesticulates for us to try. I lift my pitcher and watch the stream, grateful for my steady hands. It is indeed harder than it looks, as my stream shifts between a tinkle and a plop.

"I've mastered that skill before I started kindergarten," Phillip says in a low voice behind me.

My stream sputters from the puff of his breath on my neck.

I stop pouring all together when the meaning of what he says penetrates my skull. Heat rises to my cheeks. "Ew. Gross."

Phillip wiggles his hips in a circular motion.

"Focus on your hands, Phillip," says Martina. "We are no longer in kindergarten and my hearing is better than you think."

We practice. Water spilling around us as Phillip continues his attempts to distract me from the task. My outfit has weird damp blotches. Maybe it's for the best we're not using milk.

"Step two. Low and fast. This is where latte art actually happens." Martina lowers the pitcher closer to the cup. "We use the foamy part of our milk to skate across the surface of the espresso like skipping a stone across water."

The pitcher in my hand refuses to cooperate as I fail to produce a faster and wider stream. I grind my teeth and refuse to acknowledge my shoes are now wet as well. I'll figure it out. Baristas do this every day. I'm a smart, educated woman. I can do what they do. I squeeze the handle of the pitcher tighter and try again. Half of my water ends up in the cup with a splash.

"Be more aggressive with it." Phillip does a pour almost as smoothly as Martina.

I fail again and overshoot, so my water splatters in a puddle around us.

"I'll get a mop." Martina leaves the bar.

I clench my jaw and try again, determined to master the stupid step.

Phillip settles his hand on my elbow. "Okay if I help?"

How can he be helping me? I'm the coffee expert here. "I'm fine. I can figure it out."

"You're taking this too seriously. It's supposed to be fun." He comes so close his chest almost touches my back and the hairs on my neck rise. "Let's do it together." His hands cover mine and my next pour of water into the cup is almost perfect. "Begin with your cup tilted, as it gets fuller you straighten the cup out, which is the difficult part. Get your spout close to the surface of the cup. Almost in the cup."

"How are you so good at this all of a sudden?" I grumble as I relax into him.

He repeats his suggestive hip motion. "I've been in control of my stream for almost forty years."

I bump my butt against his hip hoping he'd stop. "I really don't need to think about pee when I'm making coffee."

"When the skill fits." He shrugs, but his hip remains glued to mine.