Eddington Mocha Espresso

“The question is, was the gardener double crossed, or did he know it was going to happen? If he did, what was he promised? What was good enough to go to jail for?”

Sam was outlining the line of thinking he was going to approach the gardener with. “I have a Grandfather’s face now, so I’ll take the good cop approach. Your grandson can be the not so nice guy that I control.”

Michael smiled. “Meaning I have to act like I would tear him apart without touching him. I can do that very well. Just ask my cousin here about the time he dented my truck.”

“I was 17, and it was dark, and…”. Like always I don’t get to finish, the laughter is too loud. I hit the grocery cart holder in an empty parking lot because I hit the gas when I thought I was hitting the brake. I had worked several hours, and was trying to go home, and it wasn’t a fun night.

They were still smiling when they laughed, though they had stopped laughing. Otecko mended my broken pride the same way he had that next day, some espresso and a story. Only this story held more than a smile at the end, and it wasn’t ancient history either.

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