Cars were stacked three deep in the drive-thru lane, engines idling, defrosters humming. Honeybrook Hollow was fully caffeine-dependent before nine a.m. I parked in one of the two short-term spots up front—someone had just vacated the other one, with tires crunching over thin ice as they backed out.
I’d already dropped Tilly at Pre-K, where she’d marched inside wearing glitter socks, her star hoodie, and the confidence of someone who had thoroughly conquered the concept of “show and tell.” Lois had been delivered to my grandfather for a long morning walk, tail wagging so hard her entire body moved with it.
For once, I was on time. Early, even.
And for reasons I wasn’t prepared to examine too closely, I found myself headed toward the Coffee Cabin window like a man magnetized.
The covered porch heater buzzed warmly, cutting the edge off the cold. I took a seat on one of the stools at the walk-up window and watched Eliza move behind the counter.
She was wearing a fitted long-sleeve shirt under her Coffee Cabin hoodie, sleeves shoved up to her elbows. Her hair was twisted up in that messy, half-fallen way that shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was. Her leggings bore a light sprinkle of powdered sugar, and her winter boots, worn and well-loved, gave her the look of someone ready for anything.
I should’ve been exhausted. I was exhausted—my eyes gritty from a late night at the diner finishing payroll, my shoulders aching from leaning over the service counter too long, but sitting there, watching her tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear and call out an order to the drive-thru? I felt awake for the first time all morning.
She turned, noticed me, and paused long enough to raise one eyebrow.
“You know your diner serves coffee, too?”
“Doesn’t taste as good as yours, and I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your early morning snark.”
“Mm-hmm.” She turned to grab a cup. “You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“But you’re still going to flirt with me, aren’t you?”
“Obviously.”
That earned me the smallest, fleeting twitch of her lips before she focused on the espresso machine again. I watched her from my stool as she worked—quick, efficient movements, tapping the portafilter, steaming milk, wiping the wand with practiced precision. It was the kind of rhythm someone got from doing something they were good at, even if they pretended they didn’t care.
Her grandma, Mabel, stood nearby taking orders from the drive-thru window, and when she spotted me watching her granddaughter, she gave me a knowing little smile.
“You’re early today,” Mabel said.
“Lucky timing,” I replied.
“Eliza doesn’t admit it, but she likes it when familiar faces show up in the morning,” Mabel said conversationally. “Some people bring good tips. Some bring warmth. Some bring?—”
“Grandma,” Eliza said sharply without looking up.
Mabel held up her hands. “I was going to say some bring consistent coffee orders. Heavens. Black coffee, right? Dash of sugar?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a chuckle. “Please.”
Eliza groaned under her breath, but the corner of her mouth softened.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m used to grandmas liking me more than their granddaughters do.”
“You’re too much,” Eliza murmured. “How am I supposed to handle all this charm?”
She handed me my coffee a moment later. Her fingers brushed mine—barely—but it was enough to send a faint jolt through my tired brain.
“You really do look sleepy today,” she said, leaning on the counter. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re finally settling into a rhythm. Tilly’s getting the hang of school. Lois is sleeping through the night more. The diner doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming anymore. Small wins, even though payroll was a beast last night.”
“You look a bit overwhelmed,” she said, softer now.
“Okay, I confess. I am,” I conceded. “But also… I’m good. Happy. Mostly.”
