The bell above the door chimes, and I look up to see a man with two young girls bundled in colorful winter coats. The taller one is wearing what looks like a Frozen-themed hat, while the smaller one sports bright-pink earmuffs.
“Welcome to Special Blend!” I call out cheerfully.
The man helps the girls unwrap their scarves as they approach the counter. “Hi, I’m Felix,” he says with a warm smile. “And these are my daughters Elsa and Arya.”
“Like the movie!” the taller girl announces proudly, pointing to her hat.
“And likeGame of Thrones!” the younger one pipes up.
Felix laughs, running a hand through his short brown hair. “Though maybe we shouldn’t mention that second reference too loudly in front of their grandmother. She’s still convinced I named her after a character from a children’s show.”
I grin, already warming to this little family. “I’m Caspian. I just took over from Old Mac.”
“Welcome to Maplewood,” Felix says, leaning against the counter. “Please tell me you make something other than plain black coffee?”
“You’ve come to the right place,” I assure him, gesturing to the menu board. “How about some hot chocolate for the girls? And what can I get you?”
“Oh thank god, you have actual coffee drinks,” Felix says, scanning the menu with obvious relief. “I’ll take a caramel macchiato, extra shot of espresso if you don’t mind. Single parenting requires serious caffeine.”
While I prepare their drinks—hot chocolates with extra whipped cream for the girls and Felix’s fortified macchiato—we chat about being newcomers to Maplewood. Felix tells me about moving here just before Christmas, and I share a bit about following my dreams with a little help from my mom.
“It’s nice to meet another new face,” Felix says, accepting his drink. “Sometimes it feels like everyone here has known each other forever.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I agree, watching the girls carefully carry their hot chocolates to a nearby table. “But everyone’s been really welcoming so far.”
Just as Felix joins the girls at their table, the bell chimes again. A woman who looks to be in her fifties enters, shaking snow from her boots. She has laugh lines around her eyes and carries herself with a gentle confidence that immediately puts me at ease.
“You must be Caspian,” she says, approaching the counter. “I’m Catherine Stone. I used to bake for Mac.”
She has friendly eyes and a warm smile, and I find myself smiling back automatically. “Nice to meet you, Catherine.”
“I brought you something,” Catherine says, pulling a box from a bag. “I thought you might like to try my signature maple cake before we discuss the baker position. If you’re still looking to hire someone, that is.”
I open the top and almost gasp. The cake is beautifully presented, with a light-brown frosting that smells heavenly. I cut a slice onto a plate, and when I take a bite, I have to stop myself from moaning out loud. The cake is incredibly moist, and the maple flavor is rich without being overwhelming. There’s a subtle hint of something else—maybe vanilla?—that makes it absolutely perfect.
“This is amazing,” I say, savoring another bite. “Seriously, this might be the best cake I’ve ever had.”
Catherine beams. “I’m glad you like it. I use local maple syrup and a few secret ingredients I’ve perfected over the years.”
As I’m covering up the cake so it doesn’t dry out, my eyes catch on the small wooden sign hanging above the coffee maker. It readsLife is sweeter with a dash of magic and coffee will keep you awake for it. It’s my mom’s favorite saying. She had it painted on our kitchen wall back home.
“Oh my goodness,” Catherine suddenly says, her voice soft. “Where did you get that sign?”
“It was my mom’s saying. She…” I trail off, my throat tightening unexpectedly.
“Elena,” Catherine whispers. “Is your mom’s name Elena Lane?”
I nod, unable to say the words aloud.
“She used to say that all the time when we were kids.” Her eyes are wide, filling with tears. “You’re Elena’s son?”
I nod, unable to speak for a moment. “You knew my mom?”
“We were best friends growing up,” Catherine says, reaching for my hand across the counter. “We did everything together until she left Maplewood. We wrote letters for a while, but you know how things were back then—no email, no social media. We eventually lost touch.” She squeezes my hand. “How is she?”
The lump in my throat grows bigger. “She…she passed away a few months ago. Cancer.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Catherine comes around the counter and pulls me into a hug. I sink into it, breathing in the faint scent of flowers and motherly comfort. “Elena was the kindest soul I ever knew. I’ve missed her since the day she packed her bags and left to chase her dreams.”
