Next morning, I wake up early. It’s still dark outside, and I’m not sure what woke me up—a quick glance at the ancient mechanical clock radio on the bedside table tells me it’s almost two hours until my alarm will go off, so I close my eyes again, willing myself to go back to sleep.
My eyelids are heavy, and I melt into the mattress as my mind drifts. I must already be dreaming because I can smell coffee, strong and bitter and fruity, and it’s making my mouth water. The scent grows more intense and I hum. I’ve never had a dream this lifelike before.
My eyes flutter open and I rub a palm over my face, but the coffee aroma doesn’t disappear, even though I’m clearly awake. Knitting my eyebrows together, I turn on the light.
And there, on the bedside table, stands my favorite cup—the one Na
