HOLIDAY HANGOVER
Chocolate + Peppermint
(post-holiday coping skills cost extra)
Tilly gasped like she’d rediscovered the portal to Narnia and sprinted ahead with Waffles the reindeer tucked tight under one arm.
I caught up just in time for the window to slide open with a soft chime?—
And there she was.
Eliza Darlington.
I spotted her instantly. It was hard not to—Eliza had been burned into my memory from the day she became Tilly’s favorite Christmas Coffee Elf. That smile, that sass, that spark I’d been thinking about since December, the first time we’dcome to the Coffee Cabin and discovered one of the best things about Honeybrook Hollow. I’d asked her out after that, before everything turned upside down. We were into the new year now and standing here, watching her look up at me with that same knowing smirk… yeah. The date we never had suddenly felt like unfinished business.
Honey brown hair tied up in a messy knot, wisps escaping around her face like they couldn’t stand to be contained. A fitted black turtleneck sweater under her Coffee Cabin apron. Eyes sharp and assessing—until they flicked to Tilly and softened, then landed on me and did something else entirely. Something electric. Something like a spark jumping between two live wires.
I still remember the first time I met her—a couple of weeks before Christmas, the air cold enough to bite, and the Coffee Cabin glowing like a little lantern in the snow. Tilly had insisted on hot cocoa, and when Eliza leaned out of that walk-up window, wearing a red beanie and the most unimpressed expression I’d ever seen on someone serving festive peppermint lattes, something in my chest shifted. She teased me about ordering a boring drink and charmed Tilly with a mountain of whipped cream and extra marshmallows. I left that day knowing two things: her coffee ruined me for all other coffee, and I was in real, heart-thumping trouble—from the very first sarcastic smile she threw my way.
“Morning,” she said, leaning one elbow on the counter. Her voice always had the tiniest rasp, like she laughed more than she let on.
“Morning,” I echoed, trying to hide my reaction to being near her. Her smile hit me as hard as it always did. My god, she was gorgeous.
“You’re early. And looking surprisingly awake.” She eyed me suspiciously and smiled. It was tiny and involuntary, like shewished she could shove it back inside, but it was already too late. “Blink twice if you’re being held hostage by adult responsibility.”
I blinked theatrically, then grinned. “Twice? Does that mean I’m allowed a rescue cup of coffee?” Tilly giggled—loud and irrepressible—drawing Eliza’s gaze back to her, and for a moment, the playful tension in the air felt warmer than the steam rising from the espresso machine. The space between us buzzed with quiet anticipation, like we could sense this morning was a little different from all the others. “I’m fine. Once I figured out where the good coffee lived in this town, survival became possible.”
Eliza’s lips quirked at the corner. I could feel Tilly’s excitement bubbling next to me, her energy somehow magnifying every tiny moment. As Eliza reached for a stack of paper cups, her fingers danced with practiced ease, and for a split second, I wondered how many quiet mornings she’d spent behind that window, watching the town wake up.
This was always the part I wasn’t prepared for. The way her gaze lingered a beat too long on mine. The tug in my stomach when she would lift a brow like she was already judging my life choices, and something hilarious was on the tip of her tongue to say about it.
“Well,” she said, voice smooth and dry, “I see you’ve brought the dog who thinks she’s entitled to half my tips.”
With impeccable timing, nose twitching like she was on a mission from the Bank of Dog. Lois made a beeline for the tip jar, hopping up, front legs on the counter, to sniff it with such theatrical suspicion you’d think she was checking for counterfeit bills. Every time we came here, without fail, she inspected those crumpled dollar bills and handfuls of coins as if searching for the one magical tip that smelled faintly of beef jerky. Eliza just laughed, nudging the jar a little closer so she could complete her financial audit.
Tilly hopped onto a stool and pressed her mittened hands to the counter. “It’s our first day in our new house!”
Eliza leaned over, resting her chin briefly in her hand as she considered us. “So, what’s the plan for today? Unpacking? Exploring?” Her eyes flicked to Tilly, then back to me, and for a second, it felt like the three of us were in on a secret.
The low hum of the espresso machine filled the silence before Tilly piped up, “Both! We’re going to make it the best house ever.” I couldn’t help but smile—hopeful, a little nervous, and undeniably grateful for this brand-new beginning.
She slid a hot cocoa toward Tilly—extra marshmallows, of course. Eliza always remembered.
“So,” she said, filling a to-go cup with practiced ease, “you’re officially a Honeybrook Hollow resident now. How’s the adjustment? Any signs of culture shock?”
“A few,” I admitted. “It’s quieter than I’m used to.”
She handed me my coffee. “Give it time,” she said. “Places warm up once they decide you’re not a flight risk. You’ll get used to it.”
I raised a brow. “That a Coffee Cabin proverb?”
“It is,” she deadpanned. “Available in cross-stitch, limited edition.”
A laugh punched right out of me. “You’re trouble.”
She smirked. “And yet you keep coming back.”
I laughed. God, she was quick. And guarded. And gorgeous. And I’d been thinking about her way more than was appropriate.
