Pleasantries seemingly approaching its end, Emily and Boris ran out of things to say to each other.  There was only so many ways of thanking her for the cookies, as he nodded that the tin was not to be returned.  There goes<i>that</i>chance of seeing her again, he ruefully thought.  And as promised, she did stop by to show off her new lid.  A lid which he praised her on the brand, the style, and the matching color.  She seemed genuinely pleased, yet not surprised, that he noticed it all.<br/><br/>Boris watched as she scootered off into the sunset, though really, she was heading northeast.  The phrase just seemed apropos at the moment, as he thought it held a double meaning for her.  Listening to the machine’s way more aggressive exhaust note, he smiled, pleased that he had performed the tweaks to her ride.  He made damn sure that she wouldn’t be heard buzzing around the city, sounding like some whiny mosquito.<br/><br/>Well, he mused, may as well get back at it and finish those work orders.  They sure as hell won’t finish themselves.  After that, he’d call it a day, already aware he was nearly dry on coffee.  With the grounds he had left, there wasn’t enough to fill a mug.  But wait, there was a<i>Starbucks </i>right across the street and half a block away.  Yeah, like that would ever happen.  Boris would rather drink old skool<i>Folger’s </i>and<i>Maxwell House </i>than step foot into a<i>Starbucks.  </i>The coffee giant was worse than an STD, as they seemed to be everywhere.  And he loathed that annoying logo, too!<br/><br/>No, he preferred to frequent the Mom & Pop type of shop, or what he liked to call<i>The One &amp; Done Coffee Shop, </i>since they weren’t on every other stinkin’ city block like you-know-who.  There was just the one, and he’d always give those types his java-purchasing business.  Conveniently, there was one such coffee locale on his way home.<i>Blue’s Café, </i>or something like that.  Boris knew it had a longer name, but it escaped him right now.  He was sure it had to do with some artsy stuff.  The name definitely had nothing to do with music, that was for sure.<br/><br/>Orders now on their cyber way, Boris tidied up and shut his computer down.  From Emily’s tin of sweet treats, he removed a pair of each flavor and wrapped them in napkins.  The impromptu packaged goodies were then placed in each of his jacket’s pockets.  He would be walking home today, since some days called for walking instead of taking his bike.  His motorcycle would be ridden to work, usually if there was something to do or somewhere to go after quitting time.  Honestly, he should be walking every day, since it was a 20- to 30-minute (depending on traffic lights) stroll, and it was good exercise to boot.<br/><br/>About halfway home, his coffee destination appeared.  Thinking about the café once he realized he was out of his beloved joe, he took special note of its full name,<i>Picasso’s Blue Period Cafe.  </i>Eh?  What the hell did that mean, now that he gazed upon the full moniker since he couldn’t remember the last time he did so?  Picasso he’d heard of.  But Blue Period?  What, did he only use blue paint during this period?  Or, was he just down-in-the-dumps because his girlfriend left his artsy ass for some opera singer?  Or worse, a poet?<br/><br/>Smiling at his own humorous thoughts, Boris entered the café and one of his all-time favorite smells greeted him like a long-lost lover: Coffee!  He never grew tired of the scent from the beans, grounds, or actual drinks.<br/><br/>The barista seemed friendly and engaging.  Some might even call her flirty.  Boris smirked with amusement as she instantly turned the flirt-o-meter off when dealing with female customers.  Sure enough, when it was his turn, he felt like he was Adonis or someone similar.  He just smiled his easy smile, ordering an<i>Americano </i>with room for cream, and a pound each of ground<i>House Blend </i>and<i>Italian Roast.  </i>Bill paid, he left a generous tip in their tip jar and took a seat at a table-for-two.  The<i>Americano </i>with cream smelled heavenly.  Reaching into his right pocket, the wrapped oatmeal raisin cookies were retrieved to add to the coffee bliss.  One treat lay on a napkin next to his steaming cup, while the other one was rewrapped and returned to its spot in his pocket.  Once the beans were ground, the barista said, she’d deliver the bags of coffee to his table.<br/><br/>Biting into his first oatmeal raisin cookie (he’d yet to sample the choco chip), his eyes glazed with glee as his tongue and taste buds all performed the Snoopy Dance.  I say damn, he thought, Emily sure knows how to bake!