And then I’d told him we should slow down.
Which, if there were awards for mixed signals, would get me a glittering trophy and a stern talking-to from the committee.
Still, I couldn’t stop replaying the way the night had ended: his smile, my hesitation, the charged silence between us. Every detail felt amplified by morning light, making it harder to sort out what I actually wanted. I wished I could bottle that feeling—with all its mess and sweetness—and keep it close for the moments when I doubted myself.
My heart flipped between regret and hope. Had I ruined something perfect or just pressed pause on a story neither of us was ready to tell? The memory of our laughter in thekitchen lingered, grounding me as I tried to find my courage for whatever would come next.
I rolled out of bed, fed the boys, and pulled on jeans, a black long-sleeve T-shirt, and my Coffee Cabin hoodie. I twisted my hair into a knot and leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter, phone in hand, composing and deleting a bunch of different texts:
Sorry about last night?
Not sorry at all, actually.
I’m a chaos gremlin. Please advise.
My phone buzzed before I could humiliate myself.
Nate: Morning, beautiful. No overthinking allowed today. Last night was good. You’re good. We will be good.
I exhaled, a little shaky, a little lighter.
Me: Is this your way of making me feel better? Because yes, please.
Nate: Pretty much. And I’m proud of us. Whatever pace feels right to you—I’m with you. I’ll swing by the window before work.
I set the phone down and let the relief sit quietly in my chest, warm as a fresh cup of coffee. Then I grabbed my keys, kissed both cats between the ears, and headed out.
The Coffee Cabin wore morning like a crown—strings of lights still twinkling under the roofline, the first smear of sunlight shining up from behind the Inn across the lot. Frost sugared the porch rails. Somewhere, someone’s radio was playing an old carol out of season. Honeybrook Hollow didn’t really care about calendars when it came to coziness.
I flipped on the brewers, checked the pastry case, and ran a quick test pull of espresso. The early rush arrived in a clatter of snow-dusted boots and wake-me-up energy.
The drive-thru stacked up—contractor truck, yoga leggings SUV lady, the newspaper guy who tipped in quarters and gossip. I moved without thinking: steam, tamp, pour, smile, mild judgment. A rhythm I knew by heart.
The bell above the walk-up window jingled once—low, familiar because I felt his presence before I saw him.
Nate.
He wore a gray hoodie and a lined denim jacket, hair damp from a shower, eyes bright like he’d invented mornings and wanted to share them with the class. My pulse did an unhelpful little hop. His smile was easy, like he belonged here amid the warmth and bustle, and for a moment, I felt the quiet thrill of routine—the simple magic of knowing just who would show up and when.
“Good morning,” he said, voice soft enough that it somehow cut through the noise to become all I could hear.
“Inspection time,” I said, lifting a sample spoon toward him. “Today’s special: maple cinnamon whip. Not too sweet.”
He leaned in to taste it—close enough for the scent of his soap to find me—and gave me a look that landed somewhere between impressed andyou’re trouble. “I’d like that on everything I own.” He grinned. “One black coffee. One cocoa with a cloud of that, to go.”
“For Tilly?”
“My grandparents are stopping by the diner with Tilly; they’re having breakfast together.”
He passed over cash, our fingers brushing. Just a graze, but it was enough to make me want to lock up and follow him wherever he went.
“You okay?” he asked quietly while I capped the cups.
“Yeah,” I said, meaning it. I hesitated, fingers tightening around the lids, unsure whether he meant the day or something deeper. “I’m okay,” I said, keeping my voice light. It was easier than letting anything complicated spill out, especially with the line crawling toward the register. For a second, his eyes searched mine, almost like he wanted to ask more, but he just smiled and stepped aside.
He nodded once, like he’d been waiting for that answer, then stepped back to let the next customer through. “See you later, Eliza.”
“See you,” I said, and it echoed a little in my chest after he walked away.
