“Yes!” Cyrus said quickly. “Exactly right. In fact, we’re even named after our ancestors.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Silly, I know, but it’s what they used to do back then!”
Lila laughed. “Not silly at all. Half the town’s named after someone from the 1800s.”
Tilly reappeared then, smiling brightly. “Okay, everyone! It’s slowed down a bit, so let’s head to the back for a quick meeting.” She turned to the group. “I can’t thank you enough for helping Jack and me while we’re on vacation. It’s been years since we left town, and we’re overdue.”
Everyone nodded and smiled. “Tell Talia and Grayson they’re lucky to have such capable help!” Grandma said.
“Thank you!” Tilly laughed. “I’ve heard you’re fast learners.”
“Well, of course we are,” Grandma said, lifting her chin. “We might be old, but we haven’t lost our marbles yet.”
More laughter followed, and Lila managed a small smile.
“That’s wonderful,” Tilly said. She elbowed Lila playfully. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
Lila fought an eye roll.I’ll believe that when I see it.
Tilly continued, “Running the machines is easy. You’ll pick it up in no time. There is one thing I need to tell you, though, the town’s having its Harvest Festival, and all the businesses take part. I’d planned a movie night here and a few other things I’ll go over in a minute. Do you think you can handle the extra events?”
Wilfred raised his hand confidently. “Between the eight of us, we can handle anything, Missy. You just watch.”
Tilly grinned. “That’s the spirit! Oh, and one more thing. Lila here works at the Van Cleet Hotel. Her family has a long history there, just like my family’s been tied to this town for generations. She can teach you a few things about customer service. Lila, that includes showing them how to run the espresso machine.”
Lila’s smile was thin. “Of course.”
“Wonderful,” Tilly said. “Now, about Harvest Festival week…”
Lila leaned against a shelving unit, arms crossed, as Tilly launched into her cheerful list of events: pumpkin spice drinks, a cider tasting, movie night…
She watched the elderly group nodding along, bright-eyed and earnest, and couldn’t decide if she should be comforted or terrified.Please let them be up to this,she thought.Because if they’re not…
Her gaze drifted toward the espresso machine gleaming on the counter.I’m going to have a big, fat mess on my hands.
Chapter Three
Tristan Jones drove through Clear Creek in his rental car, marveling at how little the town had changed. Not that he expected it to. Clear Creek had a stubborn way of staying exactly the same, and that was one of the reasons his family loved it.
Like most families in the area, the Joneses were descended from the original settlers who’d staked their claims back in the 1800s. Clear Creek had remained small for generations, until the 1940s when people started trickling in after the war. Veterans looking for a fresh start, city folk chasing a quieter life, that sort of thing. Still, the population hadn’t even cracked ten thousand.
It reminded him of the small coastal town he lived in now in Cornwall, England. Quaint, windswept, and perpetually smelling of salt and scones. A film crew seemed to show up every other month, and though he didn’t mind the bustle, his heart was in the sea.
After all, that’s what he’d gone to school for: marine biology. He didn’t see himself raising horses like the rest of his family. So he’d packed his bags, left the famous Jones Ranch behind, and headed overseas to build a different kind of life.
Eight years later, he was back, and his parents weren’t about to let him forget how long it had been. He’d barely been homea day and already his mother was driving him half mad. So, he’d slipped out for a drive, just to breathe. Maybe grab a coffee somewhere quiet before the next round of family “catch-ups.”
When he spotted Pleasant Beans, he smiled. The sign looked freshly painted, but the cozy little shop was exactly where he remembered it. If he knew Clear Creek, chances were good it was still run by the same people too.
He parked, got out, and inhaled the crisp morning air before stepping inside. The smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon hit him first. The chatter of customers, the soft scrape of chairs on wood floors, it all was oddly comforting.
“Welcome to Pleasant Beans!” chirped an elderly thin woman behind the counter. She was well into her seventies, with more silver than gray hair pulled back in a bun, and a bright smile that made up for the chaos behind her. “What can I get ya?”
He smiled back. “Hi. Do Tilly and Jack still own this place?”
“Yep, they sure do! But they’re in Hawaii right now.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “First vacation they’ve taken in years. Good for them, I say. Now what’ll it be, young man?”
“Just a black coffee, please.”
“Thank goodness for that,” she said with exaggerated relief. She turned toward the back. “Irene! One black coffee!”
