Chicory
Chicory.
It was a flower. Its roots were a flavorful herb.
Sometimes used in coffee.
But in this case:
Tea.
Since they had met under a less official - civilian capacity, all he could think about was chicory. He had seen them now, the little purple flowers, blowing in the breeze outside. It was odd, he had to have seen flowers exactly like those dozens of times before. He had simply never noticed them. Then one day, when he was finishing up his jog, he stopped. And then he stepped off the pavement and into the dirt. His workout long forgotten. It was like he was a man possessed. He found himself reaching down into the soil to lift one out, to bring it up to his nose. When he inhaled something clicked again. Something or someone he couldn't get out his mind since that day.
It was her.
The root when ground, reminded him of her smell. The color of the flower petals - her hair. Her eyes. He wondered if she would taste like it. And as he continued to ponder this, his fingers were moving across the transparent onscreen keyboard, typing her name in the input field. Not to text. But to call.
Then he waited.
Dialing...
The tea. That damned, cheap tea.
That crumpled sleeve from which she had extracted her tea bag with surgeon like precision. His eyes had traced over it, trying to be subtle. But he wanted to know details about her. Yes. It had been one of the herbs in her tea that day. So, perhaps that was when it started. When he realized he had to know.
Still dialing...
And then a click.
"Hello."
His fingers twiddled the stem before he slipped it into his pocket. "Raven, it's Jason. You free?"
Yes.
He had to know if she tasted like chicory.
