“And if Graham shows up in the morning,” Lucy added, “hit him with a milk frother.”
“I love you guys,” I said, waving as they left.
They left, and the Coffee Cabin settled into that cozy, warm vibe it only had at the end of the day. I wiped the counters, swept the floor, counted the drawer—tiny rituals that quieted the parts of me still worrying.
Outside, my Beetle was dusted with frost.
I drove home, fed the cats, made tea I barely tasted, and sat on the arm of the couch with the lamp casting soft gold over the room.
Then I reached for my phone.
Me: Made it home. Cats say hi. You free?
The typing bubbles appeared instantly.
Nate: Always. You okay?
I let my head fall back against the wall, closing my eyes.
Me: I’m okay. Sisters in full guard-dog mode. Thank you for everything.
A pause. Then?—
Nate: I’m here if you need me. No pressure. I’m here for you. I want you to know that.
Something eased in my chest—small, warm, steady.
Me: I know. And I appreciate it. So much.
I set the phone down next to me. The tea cooled. The cats piled onto my lap like furry little weighted blankets. I let myself breathe.
Chapter 17
Nate
Morning came quietly and cold, the kind that fogged the front windows of the Pennywhistle in slow breaths. I stood behind the counter with the lights still low, listening to the coffee drip and the heaters tick. My phone lay face up by the register, Eliza’s text from last night still on the screen.
I’m okay. Sisters in full guard-dog mode. Thank you for everything.
I read it once more, then slid the phone into my pocket. Okay was good. Guard-dog sisters were even better. I didn’t need to rush in and try to fix anything. I just needed to be there if she needed me.
I decided not to waste any more time second-guessing if it was right to want her—I simply knew I did. The certainty settled quietly inside me, warm and uncomplicated, like a favorite song played low in the background. I liked her so much it sometimes made my heart stumble, but there was no rush, no pressure; I was content to wait for her, hopeful and patient, knowing she’d come to me when she was ready. It was enough just to care, enough to want, and to hold that longing gently until the moment was ours.
I turned the lights up, rolled out the pastry case, checked produce, and made a mental list for the lunch special. The place now looked like a second home—chrome gleaming, red booths, napkin holders shining from last night’s wipe-down. Outside, a few early birds shuffled past in puffs of steam and small-town gossip.
By the time I opened up, the first wave had already formed a loose line. Mr. Hawkins ordered the lumberjack breakfast and said he’d heard there’d been “a bit of theater” at the Coffee Cabin. I told him the pancakes were extra fluffy today and left it there. Two guys from the fire department came in next, trading rumors about a new restaurant’s “grand” this and “soft opening” that. I slid plates across the pass and kept the tone light.
Grandma arrived midmorning, and I swore the bell rang with a brighter jingle for her than for anyone else. She wore a lavender cardigan and a grin that could have powered Sycamore Street.
“Your coffee is weak,” she sniffed, already pouring herself a cup. “Which means your nerves are strong. Tell me.”
“My coffee is perfect,” I said, passing her the cream. “You’re just dramatic.”
“Yeah, always. Your grandpa’s bringing Tilly to the playground later today once they wrap up their project for her class.”
She gave me a sideways look, the kind that saw right through the veneer. “You’re humming thunder today, sugar. Is it that Graham?”
That Graham.She knew something. “I’m fine,” I lied, then told a nearby table to holler if they needed more syrup.
