There’s something in the way he says it that makes my heart do a little flip. I clear my throat and change the subject. “Are you going to the Winter Wishes Festival? Everyone I’ve met so far has been talking about it.”
Nate’s expression turns slightly resigned. “Maplewood loves its festivals. There’s one for every season, holiday, and day ending inY.”
“But that’s wonderful!” I exclaim. “It means there’s always something to look forward to!” I continue excitedly. “And winter festivals have all the ingredients to be the best—all the twinkling lights reflecting off the snow, hot chocolate, roasted chestnuts…I mean, not that I’ve ever been to one…” I trail off as I notice Nate’s expression. “You’re not a festival person, are you?”
He shrugs, those broad shoulders moving under his flannel shirt. “I prefer quieter activities.”
“Like rescuing wood and turning it into art?” I ask, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.
“Something like that,” he says softly, and there’s that hint of a smile again that makes my stomach do somersaults.
I glance at my phone and realize I’ve been here longer than planned. “I should probably get going. Got a coffee shop to whip into shape.” I head toward the door, then turn back. “Thanks for being so nice about the muffins. Next time, I’ll stick to what I’m good at and bring coffee instead.”
“Next time?” Nate asks, and I can’t quite read his expression.
“Well, yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual even as my heart races. “That’s what neighbors do, right? They bring each other things and…neighbor?”
Nate’s quiet chuckle makes me feel warm all over. “I guess they do.”
Walking back to my place, I can’t stop smiling, even though I know I should probably rein in these feelings. For all I know, Nate’s straight—Addy seemed pretty familiar with him—and even if he isn’t, I’ve got enough on my plate with opening the coffee shop. But as I look back at his house, I can’t help thinking that maybe Maplewood has more in store for me than just a fresh start.
Still, I’ve got a coffee shop to focus on. And if I happen to make extra-special drinks when a certain tall and handsome forest product technician stops by… Well, that’s just good customer service, right?
CHAPTER 7
NATE
“Some of us actually want to finish our work today,” Amelia calls out, trudging through the snow toward me. Her bright-orange safety vest stands out against the white landscape like a warning beacon. “You’ve been staring at that tree for ten minutes straight.”
“Some of us like to be thorough,” I counter, not looking away from the maple I’m assessing. My fingers trace the rough bark, reading its story like Braille.
“Found its soul mate yet?” She stops beside me, clipboard clutched against her chest.
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Funny.” Working with Amelia is always like this—a mix of exasperation and genuine fondness. When she first arrived from New York City three years ago, barely reaching my shoulder and wearing heels to her interview, I’d bet anyone who’d listen that she wouldn’t last a week in Vermont’s forests. Now, she navigates the snowy terrain like she was born here, and I can’t imagine doing this job without her constant commentary and stubborn determination. Even if she is a nightmare sometimes.
“Speaking of soul mates,” she says, a hint of mischief in her voice, “have you heard about the new guy running Special Blend?”
My hand stills on the tree bark. “Caspian? Yeah, he’s my neighbor.”
“Oh?” Amelia’s eyebrows shoot up with interest. “And you didn’t think to mention that the gorgeous new coffee shop owner lives next door to you?”
“Didn’t seem relevant,” I mutter, moving to the next tree. But I can feel heat creeping up my neck that has nothing to do with the exertion.
“Well, he’s already working magic over there. The whole town’s buzzing about his winter spice latte. I bumped into Olivia from The Wild Palette, and she told me all about it, says it’s like drinking a warm hug in the forest.”
I snort. “A warm hug?”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Amelia says, following me as I continue my assessment. “You should stop by. Support your neighbor and all that.”
The memory of those muffins he’d brought over flashes through my mind—a little denser than what I’m used to and barely sweet but topped with icing so perfectly sugary it somehow made them work. I told myself I was just being polite when I ate the first one, but over the last few days, I’ve finished them all.
“Speaking of supporting neighbors,” Amelia continues, “you’re coming to the Winter Wishes Festival, right? The ice sculpture competition this year is going to be?—”
“Hard pass.” I cut her off, moving to the next tree. “You know how I feel about crowds.”
“You should at least consider selling some of your pieces at the market,” Amelia persists. “It’s a shame no one gets to see your art. Those wooden bowls you made last month were gorgeous.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want to sell them,” I say, running my hand along the tree bark. “It’s something I do to relax. The minute I start worrying about what other people want or trying to meet orders, it stops being an escape and becomes another job.”
