Mug Rug Sayings And Quotes

Then a low voice murmured in my ear. "Clea." I screamed and shot an immediate hammer punch to the side. "Whoa!" cried Ben. He reeled back to avoid my fist and tripped over the rug, tumbling to the ground and spilling a fresh mug of coffee over his gray shawl-neck sweater. "OH!" he gasped. "Hot. Very, very hot. Oh, not good." "Ben! Oh my God, wait-" I darted into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, then raced back to him, knelt down, and sopped the spilled coffee from his chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were there! You didn't say anything!" "I yelled from downstairs...I thought you'd heard me." A strange smell tickled my nose, and I bent closer to Ben, just inches from his face. "What's that smell?" I asked. "Cardamom clove coffee," he said, gesturing to the now empty mug on the floor beside us. "I thought you might like it." "I like the smell. Maybe you should wear it as a cologne." "Could work," he agreed. "You could give a testimonial that it makes women crazy." "Not crazy-nimble. Ten years of Krav Maga gives you catlike reflexes. If you'd been an intruder...

Everyone talks about the grief of losing someone you love, but they don’t talk about the grief of losing everything familiar. It’s not just the person; it’s the life you shared, the little things that connected you to them. The mug my mom used for coffee, the pictures of her and us on the walls, the spot where Pacha tore the rug that she mended. It’s been seven years since she did that. The dog died two years ago and now mom has passed, but that line in the rug is still as clear in my sight as the day she sewed it.