National Hot Chocolate Day

Nelson saw Austin reaching for a to-go cup the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop. 

"The usual?" he asked, his eyes crinkling as Nelson approached the counter. 

Austin's ability to always be a little ball of sunshine before the day had even broken was beyond Nelson's comprehension, but he managed to get out a gravelly, "Yes, please."

Two full words this early should earn him some kind of commendation. The effort it'd taken had been downright herculean. 

Austin twirled the marker in his hand—a level of coordination Nelson would never possess, even later in the day when his brain decided it was an acceptable hour to function properly. Any morning he didn't walk face-first into a wall felt like a miracle, divine intervention of the highest power.

Austin hesitated just long enough for the delay to register in Nelson's foggy mind, then wrote on the cup and set it aside.

Nelson watched the familiar choreography of his movements—the spin to grab something off a shelf behind him, the sidestep from one machine to another, the eventual slide of the final concoction across the counter. 

He picked up the cup, bracing himself for the daily reminder of all the poor life choices that kept bringing him back here, paying for a few stolen moments of conversation with cups of coffee he'd never enjoy.

He took a sip, then paused, blinking.

It wasn't bitter. There was no excessive amount of caffeine scorching its way down his throat. It was real milk and chocolate—rich and smooth and sweet. It was all his childhood memories of coming inside after playing in the snow and being greeted by a steaming mug of hot chocolate and the warmth of home.

He took another drink, his eyelids sliding shut. A small sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it.

When he opened his eyes again, Austin was studying him, his smile soft around the edges. 

"I thought," he said carefully, a weighty feeling to each of his words, "you might want something other than coffee."

Nelson swallowed, and heat bloomed in his chest. "It's perfect."

Austin's full grin returned, even brighter now, like he'd won a prize. "Good."

But before he could say anything else, the bell over the door chimed, and a woman in scrubs strode in, pulling out her wallet. "Triple espresso," she said, almost pleading.

Austin was already turning away, but over his shoulder he asked, "Same time tomorrow?"

Nelson nodded, because nodding didn't require trusting his own voice. He lifted his cup and stepped back out into the biting cold of the dark morning hours, trying not to let hot chocolate and a simple question get his hopes up. It was better not to delude himself into thinking they held some deeper meaning.

As he neared his car, he glanced down at the cup again. 

His feet came to an abrupt stop, and his fingers tightened reflexively.

His name wasn't written there. 

Instead, neat and unmistakable, there was a phone number. 

He huffed out a surprised breath that fogged the air, his pulse suddenly loud in his ears. He felt more awake than he had in longer than he could remember. 

Wisps of steam floated off the hot chocolate as he stared at it. It really was perfect. It was everything he'd never let himself hope for.

He grinned, got in his car, and headed toward work. 

Maybe mornings weren't so bad after all.

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