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Cider

I was in Austin for a tradeshow in 2015. In the lobby of the hotel they had a big tureen of hot apple cider for the guests. Coming in late from a fine dinner downtown, I grabbed a cup to enjoy on the way to my room. I got on the elevator and there was a charming-looking 60-ish gentleman alone in the elevator who held the door for me. I told him my floor and he punched it in.

“Is that hot apple cider,” he asked.

“Yes.”

“May I smell it?”

“Sure,” I said, extending the white styrofoam cup.

He inhaled deeply. “It smells like Christmas,” he said, smiling. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?”

“Only for eleven months of the year,” I said.

“I’m in love with you already.”

I smiled. “As you should be,” I said.

Just then, the elevator door opened on his floor and he walked out, saying in a long, wistful-sounding sigh: “As you should be.”

I rode the rest of the way to my floor with a grin on my face.