I blink in surprise. “Spill what?”
“All of it,” she insists, lowering her voice dramatically. “You and Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Intense. How did things go from him sitting in the corner of the café to…” She gestures vaguely around the luxury cabin. “This?”
I breathe out a laugh and pour tea to buy myself a second. The steam curls up between us, softening the moment. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Isn’t that how all good things start?” She lifts her cup. “One day you’re steaming milk, the next you’re being kissed in a mountain lodge.”
My cheeks redden again. “It’s… complicated.”
“It always is with men who look like that,” she replies, taking a sip. “But you seem happy. It’s good to see.”
Happy is a word I no longer know how to define, but I nod anyway.
Her expression softens. “I’ve been thinking about the café a lot. You know… the rebuilding.”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding releases slowly. “You want to help with that?”
“Help? Sage, I already made a list.” She pulls out her phone and taps the screen. “Floor layout, suppliers, local contractors, even a couple of funding ideas. I’m not letting Bean & Bloom go down without a fight.”
Emotion rises suddenly and unexpectedly. “Jenny…”
She reaches across the couch and squeezes my hand. “You taught me everything I know about running a business. And Bean & Bloom is a family. I owe you more than a paycheck.”
A tight ache forms behind my ribs. “Thank you. Truly.”
She smiles brightly. “We’ll get it back and make it even better.”
I want to believe her. I want to hold on to this small piece of my old life like it’s a lifeline.
Jenny keeps talking about remodeling ideas and new menu items, but my mind starts drifting toward the box wrapped in brown paper, sitting quietly, as if it has all the time in the world.
“I should probably get going,” Jenny finally says. “I have some errands to run before my evening shift at the diner.” She gives me another quick hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Everyone is going to be so relieved when I tell them you’re recovering.”
“Please don’t tell them where I am,” I request quickly. “I just need some quiet time to heal before I start dealing with insurance, repairs, and town gossip.”
“Of course. Your secret is safe with me.” She pulls me into a hug. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”
“I will. Thank you for everything.”
I watch from the doorway as Jenny climbs into her car and pulls away, gravel crunching under her tires until the sound fades down the mountain road. The cabin settles into quiet again, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and Vega’s steady breathing near the hearth.
I look back at the package on the table. For a moment, curiosity nudges me forward. It could be from one of the regulars. Someone who heard about the café and wanted to drop off a card or a small gift. People can be thoughtful like that. Aspen Ridge is full of customers who bring homemade jam or knitted potholders when life falls apart.
I slide the package into my hands, surprised by how light it is, and carry it up the stairs toward the bedroom. Vega trails close behind, then lowers himself at my feet the moment I sit. I set the package on the bed and sit beside it, smoothing my hands over my thighs as I study it more closely.
At first, nothing seems strange. Brown paper, twine, and my name written across the top. But as I lean in, the small details begin to shape my thoughts. The paper isn’t the kind you buy in town. It’s rougher, almost brittle at the edges. The handwriting is sharp, not rounded or friendly like the notes customers usually leave.
I run my thumb across the slanted letters. The strokes feel too practiced and intentional. My smile fades quickly. Maybe this isn’t from a customer after all. The longer I study the package, the heavier the air feels around me, tightening at the back of my neck, making it harder to breathe. The curiosity twists into a tighter, darker feeling, edging toward fear. I stare at the handwriting again, and a cold ripple moves through my chest.
This isn’t a gift, and it isn’t thoughtful. Something about it feels completely wrong. But there is only one way to know for sure. I pull the box toward me, my hands trembling. A faint metallic scent lingers beneath the musty paper.
I untie the knot, my nails snagging on the rough fibers. The paper falls away in pieces, revealing a small white boxunderneath. My stomach knots as I lift the lid. A lock of blonde hair rests on a square of linen, tied with a thin ribbon stained dark red.
The world tilts, and I grip the edge of the table to stay upright. I reach out with trembling fingers and touch the hair, soft, fine, and heartbreakingly familiar.
“Hope,” I whisper. Her name breaks against my throat.
Vega whines low beside me, reading the fear I can’t hide.
