The kitchen falls silent except for the soft ticking of the clock above the stove. Addy waits me out, knowing from long experience that pushing won’t get her anywhere.
Finally, I sigh. “He’s my neighbor, Ads. Even if I was interested, it’s not worth the risk. If things went wrong…”
“Or they could go right,” she counters softly. “When did you become such a pessimist?”
“I prefer realist.”
“You prefer hiding.” She sets down her mug and moves closer, laying a gentle hand on my arm. “Look, I’m not saying you have to marry the guy. Just…maybe don’t automatically rule out the possibility of something more than nodding at each other across the driveway?”
I stare into my coffee, watching the steam curl up into the air. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I ask.” She grins suddenly. “Besides, someone needs to teach that poor man how to dress for Vermont winters before he freezes to death.”
CHAPTER 5
CASPIAN
Standing in front of Special Blend with the keys in my hand, I take a deep breath. Mom always said I’d find my path, and here I am, about to transform this empty space into something wholly mine.
My coffee shop.
Just thinking those words sends a wave of excitement and nerves through my chest, making my heart dance a little faster. I unlock the door, and for the second time, I stand there, soaking in the significance of what I’m about to begin.
I pull out my phone and put on my cleaning playlist—upbeat indie pop that always gets me moving. As Maggie Rogers fills the empty space, I flip switches, checking that everything powers up properly. The dishwasher rumbles to life, and I gather the mugs beside the coffee maker. They look clean enough, but I want to start fresh, want everything to sparkle. I load them carefully into the rack, satisfied when I hear the first swoosh of water.
Only then do I turn my attention to the coffee maker, running my fingers along its chrome surface. It’s an older model, but solid—the kind that could tell stories if it could talk. “Don’t worry,” I whisper to it, “you’ll have a fancy new friend soon.” I grab my cleaning supplies, ready to give this beautiful piece of equipment the attention it deserves.
The machine needs love, that’s for sure. I start with a thorough inspection, noting the places where coffee oils have created a stubborn patina. Using a specialized cleaner, I begin the meticulous process of breaking down years of residue. My movements fall into a rhythm—spray, scrub, wipe, repeat—as I work through every nook and cranny. The satisfying transformation from grimy to gleaming makes me smile. Under my careful attention, the machine’s true character begins to emerge. Subtle scratches that speak of years of service, but also an underlying sturdiness that promises many more to come.
With the coffee maker sparkling clean, I reach for the bag of beans I brought with me. My signature house blend that took months to perfect. The rich aroma hits me as I pour them into the grinder and the familiar whirring sound fills the empty shop.
The scent of freshly ground coffee wraps around me like a warm hug, and I close my eyes, breathing it in deeply. I can already picture it: the early morning rush, sleepy-eyed customers stumbling in for their daily fix, the bell above the door chiming a cheerful welcome. The thought makes my heart swell with anticipation.
A knock at the door startles me from my coffee-scented daydream. Through the glass, I spot a woman with blonde hair and brown eyes bundled in a colorful scarf. When I open the door, she practically bounces inside.
“You must be Caspian! I’m Olivia Hayworth—I own The Wild Palette, the craft store and gallery next door.” She speaks with an enthusiasm that makes you want to match it. “When are you opening? What kind of coffee will you serve? Do you need any help with decorations? I have so many ideas!”
“Whoa.” I laugh, holding up my hands. “How about I make you a latte first?”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, you’re already serving?”
“Not officially,” I say, moving behind the counter. “But I never turn down the chance to make someone their first Caspian Special Blend coffee.”
I work the machine with practiced ease, the familiar motions grounding me as I steam the milk to a perfect microfoam.
“So,” I say as I focus on the milk, “how did you know my name?”
Olivia laughs warmly. “Word travels fast in a small town. Everyone’s been wondering about the guy taking over from Old Mac, whose special blend wasn’t exactly…special. Besides, we don’t get many newcomers in Maplewood, especially ones opening businesses.”
When I hand her the cup, decorated with a simple heart in the foam, she takes an appreciative sip.
“This is fantastic,” she says, cradling the cup. “We’ve needed someone with your skills in Maplewood.”
“Thank you.” I beam at her. “I hope to open officially in about two weeks, once I finish cleaning and get all my supplies in.”
“Perfect timing!” Olivia exclaims. “That’s right before the Winter Wishes Festival. You absolutely have to participate—it’s the biggest event of the season and it’s right across from us in the city park.”
“Oh, Rae mentioned the Winter Wishes Festival, but I’d love to hear more about it. What happens during it?”
