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Frankie goes and gets you coffee and pastries/donuts every Sunday— up before the sun and back before you’ve made it out of bed.
Frankie loves to read the newspaper— still not ready to go fully digital. He loves the sense of nostalgia it brings him. The feeling of the weight of the paper in his calloused hands, it’s black ink from the days events now unidentifiable smug marks on his finger tips.
It’s the sound of a crinkling page turning mixed with the soft tunes of the newly acquired vinyl tickles your ear drums, that’s pulling you from your dreams. A sweet aroma of your favorite slow-drip Sumatra and cream might be your favorite scent— Frankie’s rich musk forever being your first. The sight of Frankie propped up next to you with his tousled hair and reading glasses he’s convinced he doesn’t need— the first thing you see as you blink away the sleep from your eyes. His morning kiss tastes of sugary confectionery deliciousness, powdered sugar still slightly dusting his pouty lips. The warmth of his skin under your fingers is enough to lull you back to a deep slumber.
It’s always slow and comfortable, waiting for the caffeine to hit the spot. Weekends with Frankie are your most treasured part of your week.