Pleased with my creation but still restless, I can’t shake the feeling that I should be doing more. The shop is ready. The coffee recipes are perfect, the space looks amazing, and I’m tired of waiting. I want to see people sitting at these tables for longer than a couple of hours a day, drinking my coffee, reading the books.
I pull out my phone and dial Catherine’s number. She picks up on the second ring.
“Please tell me you’re calling about what I think you’re calling about,” she says instead of hello.
I laugh. “We’re ready for full throttle. I’m done with the soft opening. Let’s do this.”
“Leave it with me, honey. You’ll have a full display of pastries and cakes, and I’ll start on the cookies for the festival.” The excitement in her voice matches mine. “I’m so happy to be back to baking. The kitchen has felt too quiet.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” I look around the empty shop. “I think I was pulling back from opening full-time because I wanted everything to be perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. I just need to be here.”
“I agree, honey.” Catherine practically squeals. “I’ll have everything ready for you first thing in the morning. I’ll get started right away.”
After hanging up, I can’t stop smiling. Tomorrow, Special Blend will finally open its doors full-time.
CHAPTER 25
CASPIAN
I enter Miller’s General Store, greeted by the familiar creak of wooden floorboards and the comforting scent of freshly ground coffee from the small counter where Mrs. Miller always keeps a pot brewing. The woven shopping basket I grabbed from the stack by the door dangles from one arm as I pull out my phone to check my grocery list. The store isn’t big or fancy like the supermarkets in Phoenix, but its narrow aisles stocked with everyday essentials and local products have already become a familiar comfort in my new small-town life.
I head straight for the baking aisle, my mind already running through the recipe for maple-and-cheese scones. The Winter Wishes Festival is coming up fast, and I want to have something of my own to serve. Most people don’t say it, but I know my bakes aren’t like Catherine’s. They always lack something, texture or flavor. But where I miss the mark, I make it up with something else.
Even if my scones aren’t the best, they’re still a little bit of me and Mom. I like to think she’d be proud that I always try my best. Plus, they’ll be perfect for tomorrow’s opening.
As I’m reaching for flour, my thoughts drift to Nate. He’s been working so hard lately with all the storm damage. I wonder if he’s had time to do any grocery shopping. Maybe I should pick up some essentials for him? Some bread, milk, maybe ingredients for an easy dinner…
I stop myself mid-reach, my hand hovering over a loaf of the artisanal bread I noticed in his kitchen last time. It’s probably inappropriate for me to assume Nate needs help with groceries. He’s a grown man who’s lived here his whole life. He definitely knows how to take care of himself. Besides, what would I even say? “Hey, I thought you might be too busy to shop, so I bought you bread.” That sounds weirdly presumptuous, especially since we haven’t really defined what this thing between us is. For all I know, I’m just a convenient distraction while he’s busy with work.
The thought sits heavy in my stomach as I move through the store, mechanically adding ingredients to my basket. Are we dating? We haven’t actually been on many proper dates unless you count shared dinners and stolen moments in my coffee shop. And that blowjob earlier today… My cheeks flush at the memory.
But then again, what do I really know about what Nate does when we’re not together? The niggling doubt that’s been hovering at the edges of my mind starts to grow. I think about New Year’s Eve. How easily he approached me at the bar. How many other guys has he done that with?
I pause in front of the dairy case, staring unseeing at the rows of cheese. For all I know, he could have gone to Burlington in the past few days. Is that even in his work area? I realize I don’t actually know the geographical scope of his job. The forest is huge, after all.
Shaking off my spiraling thoughts, I grab the cheese I need and turn around—only to nearly collide with a small body. I stumble back, catching myself on the dairy case.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I say, looking down at a small boy with blue eyes and tousled light-brown hair. He’s probably around five or six years old.
Instead of responding, the boy puts his finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing motion. “I’m on a secret mission,” he whispers loudly, the kind of whisper that’s actually louder than regular speaking.
I can’t help but laugh. “A secret mission, huh?”
He nods solemnly. “I’m Bailey, but you can’t tell anyone you saw me. My daddies said so.”
“Did we now?” a warm voice says from behind Bailey. I look up to see a man approaching us, an amused smile on his face. He’s a little shorter than me, with kind brown eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses and soft brown hair. He’s wearing a cozy-looking sweater with paint splatters on it, and there’s something inherently sweet about his whole demeanor. “I’m so sorry about that. Bailey has a very active imagination.”
“No worries at all,” I say, smiling. “Bailey here was just telling me about his secret mission.”
The man extends his hand. “I’m Ben. We’re visiting for a few days.”
“Caspian,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Are you here for the Winter Wishes Festival? I’m still pretty new to town myself, so I’m looking forward to experiencing it for the first time.”
Ben opens his mouth to respond but pauses, glancing over his shoulder. I follow his gaze to see three men standing at the end of the aisle with another child. Two of them look identical—they must be twins. Something about their faces seems familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“Yeah, we’re here for the festival,” Ben says, turning back to me with an odd expression I can’t quite read. “And…maybe a few other things.”
“Have you seen the Wishing Tree yet?” I ask, gesturing toward Bailey, who’s now bouncing on his toes with excitement. “It’s really magical, especially for kids.”
