The machine buzzed and crushed the beans. He held his head and furrowed his brows in irritation to either the noise of the machine or the idea of her standing so close.
"I've made breakfast," she said. He turned around to see her prepare a tray of two glasses of orange juice, two plates of toasted bread with small bowls of jams lining the tray.
"Why so much jam?" was all he could say as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the machine. The coffee dripped ever so slowly into his mugs, much to his frustration.
She looked disappointed. "I didn't know what kind of jam you would like on your toast. There were so many choices in the refrigerator. All of the bottles were equally used."
He stared at the jams and then at her. She looked pleased with herself, but her smile fell as if she had disappointed him.
"Where would you like your breakfast? It's a glorious day outside," she smiled.
"It's the middle of winter," he said.
"It's quite warm for winter. You and your lady friend would-"
"It's the middle of winter," he snapped and grabbed his coffee. He gave a last look at her, and walked out of the kitchen.
She stood and watched him leave. She looked at the tray. She reached out to one of the jams and turned the little bowl to align it with the others.