CHAPTER 20
Lattes And Life Plans
~ROSEMARIE~
Snow is falling in Oakridge Hollow.
Not the aggressive, biting kind that makes you question every life choice that led to you being outside in winter, but the soft, picturesque kind that looks like someone is shaking powdered sugar from the clouds. The kind that makes everything look like a snow globe—cozy and magical and impossibly perfect. The kind of snow that makes you want to curl up with a warm drink and watch it fall for hours.
I push through the door of Hazel's Hearth & Home Bakery, and immediately the warmth wraps around me like a hug. The scent hits me next—fresh bread and cinnamon rolls and something chocolatey that makes my mouth water before I've even fully stepped inside. Underneath it all, there's the rich, bold aroma of coffee that calls to me like a siren song. The beans today smell like they might be Ethiopian—bright and fruity with that distinctive blueberry note that makes my barista brain perk up with interest.
This place. This cozy, perfect, impossibly charming place. I could spend hours here and never get tired of the atmosphere.
Hazel's bakery has become something of a landmark in Oakridge Hollow over the past couple of years. What started as a small passion project has expanded into a thriving business, complete with exposed brick walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a display case full of pastries that look too beautiful to eat. The walls are decorated with local art—watercolors of the town in different seasons, abstract pieces in warm earth tones, photographs of the surrounding mountains in all their glory.
Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling on copper fixtures, casting everything in that warm amber glow that makes even a dreary winter morning feel welcoming. A fireplace crackles in the corner—an actual fireplace, not one of those fake electric things—and the seating is arranged in cozy clusters that encourage lingering. Plants cascade from hanging pots in the windows, adding splashes of green to the winter-white view outside.
This is the kind of place I dreamed about having someday. Not exactly the same—mine would be more focused on coffee than baked goods—but this energy. This warmth. This feeling of walking through a door and immediately feeling like you've come home. The kind of place where strangers become regulars and regulars become friends.
I arrived early specifically so I could check in with the new workers before Ruby shows up. It's been about a week since I was last here, helping train some of the fresh hires on Hazel's specialty drink menu, and I want to make sure everything is running smoothly. Quality control matters, even when it's not technically my business.
The morning shift seems to have things under control. Maya, a sweet Beta girl with pink-streaked hair and an enthusiasmfor latte art that rivals my own, waves at me from behind the counter.
"Rosemarie! You're early!" She's already reaching for a cup. "The usual?"
"Actually, I'm meeting someone." I lean against the counter, scanning the drink menu board even though I already know what I want. "But I'll take two of the Rio-inspired lattes when my friend gets here."
"Ooh, good choice. Those have been selling like crazy since you added them to the menu." Maya grins, clearly proud of the contribution I made during my last training session. "People keep asking if you're going to add more Brazilian-inspired drinks."
That's... actually really nice to hear. The Rio latte was my own creation—a blend of Brazilian coffee beans, condensed milk, a hint of coconut, and a touch of cinnamon that makes it taste like sunshine in a cup. I'd suggested it half-jokingly during training, not expecting Hazel to actually add it to the permanent menu.
"Maybe," I say, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. "I've got a few more ideas."
"Please share them! Hazel would love it." Maya starts wiping down the counter, her movements efficient and practiced. "She keeps talking about how you have this natural instinct for flavor combinations. Says you're wasted doing anything other than creating drinks."
Wasted. That's one word for it. Another word would be 'trapped in circumstances beyond my control,' but that's less flattering.
The door chimes behind me, and I turn to see Ruby waltzing in like she owns the place. Her red hair is dusted with snowflakes, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and she's wearing a coat that's probably worth more than my entire wardrobe—vintage Chanel, if I had to guess, because Ruby has always had impeccable taste and the bank account to match it.
"Rosemarie!" She waves enthusiastically, drawing the attention of half the bakery, and I feel myself shrink slightly under the sudden scrutiny. "There you are! I've been dying to catch up!"
And there goes my attempt to blend into the background. Ruby has never understood the concept of subtlety.
But I smile anyway, because despite her overwhelming energy, Ruby is one of the few people in my life who has never asked me to be anything other than exactly who I am. She met me at my lowest—fresh out of my ex-pack, broke, and broken—and instead of pitying me, she handed me a coffee and said, "Well, that sounds like absolute horseshit. Let's fix it."
"Hey, you." I give her a quick hug as she reaches me, catching a whiff of her signature perfume—something expensive and floral with a hint of spice. "I ordered us Rio lattes. Want to grab a window seat?"
"Ooh, perfect." Ruby links her arm through mine and steers us toward a small table tucked into the corner by the front window. "I love watching the snow. It's so peaceful. And the window seats here have the best view of Main Street."
We settle into the mismatched chairs—mine a worn leather armchair, hers a plush velvet number in deep emerald—and I take a moment to appreciate the view she mentioned. Main Street is charming in the snow, all the little shops with their awnings dusted white, people bundled up and hurrying about their business, the occasional dog being walked by an owner who looks far colder than the animal.
This is nice. This is normal. Just two friends having coffee on a snowy morning, like nothing has changed.
Except everything has changed. Everything is different now.
Maya brings our drinks over—two perfectly crafted Rio lattes with foam art that looks like little hearts. Ruby thanks her with a warmth that's genuine despite her dramatic personality, and then we're alone again, wrapped in the cozy bubble of the bakery.
"So," Ruby says, wrapping her hands around her cup and fixing me with those sharp blue eyes that miss absolutely nothing. "How's everything been this past week? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."
