💋 A Latte Starter— A Mills & Swoon Flash Affair —✨ Love, spilled hot and served with cinnamon.

💋 A Latte Starter ☕ — Full Flash Fiction (Blog + Kindle) 
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Description: A Latte Starter is a deliciously brief morning romance from the Mills & Swoon Flash Fiction Series by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA. In the hum of an urban coffee queue, love bubbles up between caffeine rituals and unspoken glances. This modern short read captures that first spark — quick, witty, and just a little steamy — the way a great espresso does. Perfect for women who read on the move, A Latte Starter blends humour, sensuality, and a touch of rebellion in under ten minutes. ☕ Available to read free on the Tale Teller Club blog — or download the Kindle edition for your daily commute collection. Tags: Romance flash fiction, modern love story, short romantic read, Mills & Swoon, Sarnia de la Maré, Kindle short reads for women, coffee romance, city love story.

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💋 Mills & Swoon is a Tale Teller Club production. Evergreen stories of love, wit, and human alchemy.

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Mills and Swoon is a romantic fiction series created by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA under Tale Teller Club Press, featuring droll, risqué short stories for modern women.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
A lat a, starter, a Mills and swoon flash fiction.
The morning cue at Bruise was a religion. Every disciple
had their mantra extra shot, no foam, half vote, half
armined something unholy with caramel. She stood behind him, silently,

(00:21):
judging his confidence, crisp suit, expensive watch, that faint scent
of Canary warf arrogance. She looked at the nape of
his neck and wondered what it would be like to
kiss it last thing at night and first thing in
the morning when she woke next to him on ruffled
Egyptian cotton stockings on the floor. With the sort of

(00:44):
memories grown ups cherished. He ordered, with the efficiency of
a ceo and the casualness of a poet, the usual
no lid, who drinks without a lid, probably someone who
thinks of consequences. Was he eco? Was he committed? Did
he like Greeka Thunberg? So ordered yet rebellious, so eager

(01:08):
yet deliberate. Another barrista was repeating, miss, miss what can
I get you? She was still captivated by the nape
of his well groomed, lightly tanned neck as she shook
lewd thoughts and blamed them on her monthly bi rhythms.
Oat milk, flat, white, medium cup, cinnamon dust. She tried

(01:32):
not to sound like a dork, but of course she
was a dork. He turned smirked, that lazy, dangerous smirk
that says I know you noticed me. I felt your
glare on my neck, and yes, I am the hottest
man you ever saw. Moments later, chaos, a horror movie unfolded.

(01:55):
The barrista shouted oat flat. As they both reached for
the same col it went flying, a cinematic collision, a
summersault of kinetic energy, steam slips, splash. She looked at
the damage. It was dire, irrepairable, tragic. His pristine white

(02:17):
shirt now a Jackson Pollock in beige and various colors
of baby poop. Oh god, I'm so sorry, she gasped, pathetically,
dabbing him with napkins, wondering if her sweaty mustache was
showing through her foundation. Depends how you define sorry, he said,

(02:38):
you might have just given me a reason to skip
a meeting. She stared, you're not angry. He looked down
at the mess, then back at her. I've had worse mornings,
none as interesting. Having a beautiful woman throw coffee over
me is believe it or not? A first. He picked

(02:58):
up her latte and handed it to her. Cinnamon smells good.
Oh have it please? I insist I will get another,
she said, feeling slightly more composed. The barrista offered a replacement.
I'll take another with cinnamon, same as hers, he said.
She was still looking at the nape of his neck.

(03:19):
Fancy sharing a pastry, He turned and asked, I missed breakfast.
You've already ruined my shirt. Might as well ruin my diet.
Oh yes, yes, please, thank you. Diets are acquitters, she said, gleefully,
then grimacing at her own non funny joke. He chose
an armond croissant with a flirtatious nut topping. Everything was

(03:44):
feeling slightly electric. The croissant sat seductively between them on
a table, begging to be devoured. At least it was
not his neck making her mouth water, she thought, trying
to act as if she met incredibly hot men every
day over pre work coffee, shall I, he asked, pointing

(04:06):
towards the plate. She nodded, trying not to breathe heavily
as he ripped the defenseless croissan in two then his
phone buzzed. Meeting canceled. He murmured, guess I will have
time to change my shirt. After all, the thought of
him topless was almost too much to bear. She tried
to breathe steadily, just like her therapist had explained she

(04:29):
must do when she has a panic attack. He sensed
her thoughts. If I knew you better, you could come.
She looked, dismayed. To help me choose a new shirt,
he continued, that would be fun if only I didn't
have work. He smiled, giving away his own desires, and

(04:51):
he wrote his number on a serviette. His name was Julian,
and this was just the beginning.