On the lake: Hugh & Atticus WHO: Hugh M. & Atticus M. WHEN: Sunday morning WHERE: On the docks, and the lake. SUMMARY: Atticus suggested sailing in return for Hugh's coffee. WARNINGS: N/A.
The last time he'd been out on the lake on a boat it hadn't been a sail boat and there was something about the idea of a sailboat that sat well with Hugh. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't been out on one before, but he liked it better than a motorboat, even though he suspected a motorboat would make far more sense for him personally. But it felt as if a sailboat required skill and knowledge, and perhaps was just more classic than a motorboat, and quieter -- all things he liked the idea of.
This morning he waited on the edge of the dock, watching as one appeared to come towards him, and he held two travel mugs, one in each hand, each filled with Ethiopia Guji that he'd poured over earlier in the day. He'd added some sugar to one, noting it with a small sticker on the top, and then stuck a few more packets in his pocket in case Atticus wanted it sweeter, but he didn't want to overpower the flavor of the roast, and since he didn't typically do sweet, it was always a bit of a gamble what people wanted. And he wanted the coffee to be right. Part of this was the old barista him, the one that had worked at the shop in the U District for years, dealt with hipsters and coffee snobs, and trainings, and the other part of it had nothing to do with coffee snobbery and everything to do with the fact that Atticus had been genuinely nice to him, and he was genuinely grateful for that opportunity, and he wanted the coffee to be right.
This morning he'd decided to go comfortable, choosing a rare pair of navy shorts, along with a light-weight linen white button up shirt and boat shoes. His hair was gelled back, although he didn't have any particular hopes that his curls would stay put in the wind, but he'd start there anyway.
Truthfully, he was glad to have the sailing to look forward to this morning. His professional life felt more like his own again. The play was coming along, he was feeling good about the opening in a week, or slightly less than. His personal life was still... well, it was better. He and Hannah were talking, and even if perhaps there was slightly less closeness than there had been previously, the friendship still felt solid. But it was different, and he'd also become fairly painfully aware of just how much he'd depended on her to talk to, and perhaps unfairly so. And he'd been trying to reach out more. Theodore, his entirely too handsome neighbor, Billy, to watch films, and the conversations with Atticus had helped more than he suspected that he could really articulate. He hoped, as he watched, his grip still on the traveling mugs, that this would go as well. He offered a wave as the boat as it approached, and a warm smile.