'That's sweet,' I thought to myself. 'It's Valentines Day and he's bringing me my coffee.' Several minutes went by, and I began to think I'd been mistaken, and that I should probably get up and get my coffee my ownself before it got that burnt taste from sitting too long on the heating coil.
But then the door opened and Joel walked in, mug in hand. It was like nothing so much as when small children make breakfast in bed for their parents, and then carry it to them with tiny, cautious steps because they're afraid of spilling, except that this was a grown man and all he had was a cup of coffee that he'd accidentally filled to the brim. Rather than pour some out or slurp it off, he'd baby-stepped down the hall to bring it to me. Sweetness.
I had totally let him off the hook, Valentines Day-wise because, whatever, it's a long story and who really cares anyways. Bringing me my coffee and taking me to Taco del Mar tomorrow, when we finally have time, is enough lovin' for me. Except that when I finally peeled myself off of the paper-writing chair to bring my coffee cup back to the kitchen, I saw this.
The note says something nice about him loving me forever, or something. The chocolates are extra-cacao, just how I like them.