Olivia leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “It’s absolutely magical. We have these incredible local artists who create the most beautiful ice sculptures—when the sun hits them just right, the whole street glitters!”
“Ice sculptures? Really?” I can’t help but match her enthusiasm.
“That’s just the beginning! You should see the families during the snowman-building contest. The park fills with laughter—everyone’s so competitive about it, but in the best way.” She gestures expansively. “And we’ve got sledding, ice skating at the lake… Oh! And all the amazing food from local suppliers.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Just wait until nighttime,” Olivia continues. “The whole park lights up with these gorgeous twinkle lights, and there’s live music everywhere. People gather around bonfires to roast marshmallows and tell stories.” She pauses, her voice softening. “But the best part? The Wishing Tree.”
“The Wishing Tree?”
“Everyone in town writes their wish and puts them inside a decoration. Then, they hang their wishes for the new year on this beautiful tree. And here’s the thing”—she leans in conspiratorially—“those wishes? They have a way of coming true throughout the year. There’s just something…special about it.”
“Like magic?” I ask, caught up in her storytelling.
“Exactly like magic.” She nods. “Trust me, Caspian, you’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s like stepping into a winter fairy tale. And it all happens right outside our front door.”
“Wow.”
“I can talk to Bo from the community development office to see if they still have any vacant spots for a coffee stand,” she says. “He handles all the permits and arrangements for festival vendors. He’s a sweetheart and can help get everything sorted out for you. Nothing better than a hot coffee on a cold winter night. Plus, it would be a great way to introduce yourself to everyone.”
“That would be amazing,” I say, already imagining the setup. “I was worried about how to get the word out.”
“You know what else you could do?” Olivia takes another sip of her latte. “Open for a few hours each morning before your official opening. Let people get a taste of what’s coming. Word of mouth is everything in Maplewood.”
The suggestion hits me like a bolt of inspiration. “Like a soft opening?”
“Exactly! And trust me, once people try your coffee, they’ll be counting down the days until you’re fully open.”
I smile. “That’s such a great idea.”
“So,” Olivia says with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “did you move to Maplewood on your own?”
“Yeah.” I nod, wiping my hands on a cloth. “My mom grew up here, but this is my first time in town. I don’t really know anyone yet.”
“Well, now you know me,” Olivia says with a warm smile. “And before long, you’ll have a line of customers out the door.” She winks. “And who knows? Maybe someone special might catch your eye.”
I think of Nate, my neighbor with those oddly-familiar warm ocean-blue eyes that contrast so beautifully with his slightly grumpy demeanor, and feel my cheeks heat. Olivia’s grin widens, but she mercifully doesn’t comment.
“Welcome to Maplewood, Caspian. I think you’re going to fit in perfectly here.”
After she leaves, I attack the cleaning with renewed vigor, my mind racing with possibilities. The festival, the soft opening, the chance to become part of this community—it all feels right in a way I haven’t experienced since Mom passed.
Before I’m done for the day I get another visit, this time from Ever, who owns The Honey Spot next door. He tells me he sells honey and bee-related products.
When I finally lock up for the day, the winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across Maple Street. I’m on a high from meeting new people and my muscles ache from scrubbing, but it’s the good kind of tiredness that comes from progress. Tomorrow, I’ll start planning that soft opening. Maybe I’ll see if Nate wants to stop by for a test cup.
I smile at the thought as I head to my car, then pause mid-step. Maybe what Nate needs isn’t just coffee but something sweeter. Mom always said the quickest way to anyone’s heart was through their stomach, and her blueberry muffin recipe never failed to win people over. Plus, baking always helps me think, and I’ve got plenty to plan for the soft opening.
I get in the car, heading toward the grocery store instead. I can pick up ingredients for the muffins and place orders for everything I’ll need for Special Blend’s debut. The keys jingle in my pocket as I walk, and I can’t help but grin, imagining Nate’s grumpy exterior melting away at the first bite of those delicious muffins. Sometimes, the best promises come wrapped in paper liners and topped with sweet lemon drizzle—my own improvement to Mom’s recipe.
CHAPTER 6
CASPIAN
The mid-morning sun streams through my kitchen window as I line up ingredients on the counter. Flour, sugar, eggs, and what feels like a hundred other things I’ve gathered for what I’m determined will be the perfect batch of muffins. Mom would laugh if she could see me now, a lifetime away from when I somehow managed to turn her kitchen into a winter wonderland of powdered sugar because I wanted to bake for her.
“Not this time,” I mutter, tying on the bright-yellow apron Mom got me as a joke. It hasHot Stuff Coming Throughemblazoned across the chest in red sequins. “These muffins are going to be amazing.”
