She poured two cups. One for the buyer. One for herself.
She ground the Yirgacheffe beans—frozen in time from that exact lot—and brewed using a method she’d reverse-engineered from a Kyoto monk. The steam curled up, and she inhaled deeply. There it was: the woman’s soft sob, the crinkle of a tissue, the way the morning light had cut across table three. erika moka
And for the first time, Erika Moka broke her own rule. She poured two cups