Vega sprawls near the temporary steps with his body stretched long in a warm patch of sun. His fur looks almost golden in the light, and he lifts his head every so often to watch the crew as if he's personally responsible for supervising each nail that goes in. His ears swivel toward me when I move closer, and his tail gives a lazy thump against the ground. I crouch beside him and run my fingers through the thick fur along his neck. He leans into my touch, eyes half-closing in contentment.
“You're such a good boy,” I murmur to him, scratching behind his ears the way he likes. His tail thumps harder, and a soft groan rumbles from his chest.
Hope stands a few yards away, wrapped in a paint-splattered hoodie she refuses to throw out even though I've offered to buy her ten new ones. She gestures toward an electrical plan with thecertainty of an expert, her hands moving through the air as she explains something to the contractor.
“We need outlets along the entire front wall,” she insists, pointing at various spots on the blueprint. “Sage goes feral during holiday season. You haven't seen this place in December.”
The contractor laughs, a deep sound that carries across the site. His pencil moves across his notepad as Hope continues outlining her vision for twinkle lights and seasonal decor. Her confidence fills the space around her, loud and bright, almost contagious. She looks healthier now than she did when we first got back from Seattle. The color has returned to her cheeks, and her eyes hold their old spark again. The seizures are under better control with the new medication regimen Luka's doctor prescribed. Watching her stand here planning the café's future makes my chest tight with gratitude.
Jenny appears with a stack of spreadsheets tucked under her arm and a clipboard full of coffee supplier contracts. She offers a grin that carries the comfort of routine, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
“The roaster sent new samples. Again.” She rolls her eyes, though fondness warms her tone. She crosses the uneven ground easily, navigating the scattered tools and lumber as if they aren’t even there. “At this point I'm convinced they're trying to win your heart through caffeine.”
I take the folder from her hands and shake my head, flipping through the pages. The familiar pull of business decisions sweeps through me, leaving me more centered than before. “If they send one more blend with floral notes, I might let them down gently.”
Jenny hands me a drink without comment, something she does every time she arrives. The cup is warm against my palms, and I wrap my fingers around it, letting the heat seep into my skin. Steam curls up from the small opening in the lid, carrying the rich scent of coffee. She manages logistics as if she were born for it, already returning to her clipboard to highlight entire sections while muttering about delivery schedules. Her pen scratches across the paper, the sound mixing with the hammering and distant conversation.
People filter in throughout the afternoon, their arrivals punctuated by car doors closing and footsteps crossing gravel. Familiar faces from town appear one by one, each bringing something with them. Mrs. Hargrove brings cinnamon rolls for the crew, the sweet smell wafting from the container as she presses two into my hands with firm instructions to keep my energy up. Her fingers are warm and soft, and her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes.
“You're doing such a wonderful thing here, dear,” she tells me, patting my arm. “The town needs this. We need you.”
My throat tightens, emotion threatening to spill over, but I manage to thank her before she moves on to distribute the rest of the rolls among the workers.
One of the firefighters who used to stop by every morning drops off a box of donuts, the cardboard smooth against my hands when I accept it. He asks when he can reserve his favorite corner table again, his expression hopeful and kind. A retired teacher offers banana bread and promises to help with painting once the walls go up, her voice gentle as she squeezes my shoulder.
Their kindness wraps around me until my eyes sting. I blink rapidly, willing the tears to stay where they are. This communityfelt the loss of my café almost as deeply as I did, and now they are here rebuilding it with me. Each person who stops by brings a piece of what Bean and Bloom used to mean to them, and I'm collecting those pieces like treasures.
Near the temporary porch railing lies a large wooden sign, covered in brown paper but impossible to ignore. I've walked past it three times already, my curiosity building each time. The edges reveal a refreshed Bean and Bloom logo with smoother lines and just enough polish to hint at Luka's influence. I suspect he worked with the designer even if he pretended he had no hand in it. The thought makes me smile despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach.
He’s here today in Colorado, right in the middle of my build site. The knowledge sends a warm rush through my chest every time I remember it.
Luka carries lumber like he's done it his whole life. Today, he's traded his suits for worn jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that already has streaks of sawdust. Sunlight cuts across his shoulders as he talks with the electrician about the new security layout, his voice low but carrying authority. Cameras discreet enough that I won't feel watched. Silent alarms that sit tucked beneath the counter and beside the office. Safety without feeling caged.
He listens closely, his head tilted slightly, and jaw angled in concentration. His hands rest on his hips, and I can see the muscles in his forearms flex when he gestures toward a section of the wall. When his eyes find me through the busy hum of the site, something inside my chest expands, warm and overwhelming. The coldness he carried when we first met has melted into a warmth that sees me and pulls me into its center.
I press my hand against my stomach again, feeling the baby stir.Ourbaby. The reality still hits me at unexpected moments, stealing my breath with its enormity. Luka's child growing inside me, a life we created in the midst of chaos and violence. A life that somehow survived everything.
The crew begins wrapping up as the sun dips below the horizon. Tools are gathered with metallic clinks, coolers shut with hollow thuds, and goodbyes called out as trucks pull away one by one. The sound of engines fades into the distance, leaving a peaceful quiet in its wake. Hope loops her arm through Jenny's and sends me a look so obvious I nearly groan. Her eyebrows lift, her mouth curves into a knowing smirk, and she leans closer to Jenny as if sharing a secret.
“We'll grab dinner,” she announces with theatrical innocence, her voice carrying across the space. “Enjoy your quiet time.”
I bring a hand to my forehead, heat climbing up my neck. “Please behave.”
“We absolutely won’t,” she answers, her grin widening as she drags Jenny off toward her car. Jenny laughs, waving at me over her shoulder as they go. Vega trots after them for a few steps before stopping, pivoting, and returning to me as if remembering where he's needed most. His body presses against my leg, and I rest my hand on his head.
The construction site softens into silence once they're gone. The scent of pine drifts lightly through the half-built structure while the concrete slab beneath my feet still holds a trace of the afternoon's warmth. The beams rise around us, open to the sky that glows with streaks of soft gold and pale rose.
My heart starts to beat faster, a nervous flutter that spreads through my chest. I smooth my hands down the front of my jeans, then tuck my hair behind my ears even though it doesn't need tucking. The air feels charged somehow, electric with anticipation.
Luka approaches with a stride I've come to recognize, confident but unhurried. His focus is entirely on me as he crosses the slab, and the change in his expression sends a ripple of longing through me. The corners of his mouth lift slightly, not quite a smile but close. His hazel eyes, which can look so cold when he's working, are warm now. Almost soft.
He holds out a hand when he reaches me. His palm is rough with calluses, evidence of years spent building his empire with more than just commands. When I place mine in his, a gentle heat moves through me. He leads me across the faint chalk outlines, his fingers laced through mine, stopping at the space where the counter will rise again.
This is where everything began. Where he walked in with Vega on that first morning, where my life changed without even realizing it. I remember the way he looked at me then, assessing and dangerous, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. Now, when he looks at me, it’s entirely different, an intensity that makes my breath hitch and my pulse quicken.
Blueprints lie spread across a makeshift surface beside us, their corners weighted down with spare nails and chunks of wood. Luka gestures toward the largest page and taps a finger lightly against the paper. The motion is gentle, almost reverent.
“Expanded kitchen,” he explains quietly, his accent wrapping around the words. “More room for the bakers. Better ovens.Extra storage so you stop threatening to throw things when deliveries pile up.”
