The man nodded his understanding. “Ah, so you’re looking for something to kick you into high gear? No worries; we’ve got you covered.” He flipped around and peered up at the menu. “Our Black Diamond Cold Brew is a big hit. But if you’re not looking for coffee, we can always add caffeine powder to our Holden Hart Hot Chocolate for that extra oomph you’re looking for.”
Rachel choked. “Hot Chocolate?” She couldn’t force the first part out of her mouth.
“Yeah, it’s a town favorite, named after the creator himself. Not your grandmother’s hot chocolate—it’s got sea salt and chili powder in it. Really good stuff.”
“Seems like Not-Your-Grandmother’s-Hot-Chocolate would have been a fine enough name,” she mumbled louder than she intended.
The kid smiled again. “If you know Holden Hart, you know he deserves to have his name up on that board.”
Oh, she knew Holden Hart alright. And she knew exactly what he deserved.
“So, what’ll it be?”
“Just a large Whiteout White Mocha. Two extra shots.” She unzipped her coin purse with more force than required and the handful of change flung out and scattered to the floor like loose marbles.
Thankfully, the man waiting at the bar for his drink stooped to collect the coins before she had the chance for the proper amount of humiliation to form. He dropped them back into her palm and grinned. “I’ve got you,” he said, mouth curving up on the left to reveal a dimple pressed deeply into his cheek.
“Thank you.” Angling back to the cashier, Rachel brandished her credit card instead, unwilling to let another blunder steer her off-course.
When the machine alerted her to remove her card, the cashier said, “We’ll call out your drink order as soon as it’s ready. Have an epic day.”
Rachel shimmied around her coin-collecting rescuer, forcing a smile of thanks as she wedged past his bulky body made even larger by the puffer jacket zipped clear up to his chin. Goodness, these certainly were tight quarters.
Dropping into her chair, she inhaled, pulling her spine taut and shoulders straight. She fished a hair tie from her purse—thankfully keeping all coins and other items within it this time—and wrapped her shoulder-length blonde strands up from her face and into a loose bun at the crown of her head. The last required piece of attire for a day at the computer were her fingerless gloves, and she slipped those on, popped her knuckles, and flipped open the laptop, ready to dive in.
“Holden Hart!” she heard the barista shout from the opposite end of the coffee shop just as she was about to jam her earbuds into place. “Holden Hart Hot Chocolate ready at the bar!”
She still couldn’t fathom why they would name a drink after the guy, let alone the fact that someone would actually order it. A grown man sort-of-someone, apparently, as she noted the person who had graciously collected her coins earlier now collecting his drink from the counter.
She harrumphed under a breath, vowing not to let it bother her.
She could have her name up on that chalkboard if she wanted.Rachel Joy Java. Rachel’s Medium Roast.It wasn’t like he had one-upped her by having his name on a silly menu. She wasn’t keeping score anymore, anyway. And even if she were, having her family’s noble fir as the official town square Christmas tree would be the big holiday win to end all competitions.
Holden’s name hadn’t crossed her mind in the last decade, so why had it suddenly hung around the forefront of her thoughts like outdoor Christmas lights left up long into February? It was annoying and overdone and entirely unnecessary. But maybe a little of that had to do with the fact that the small town reminded her of his existence at every turn. From the menu, to the sound of his name booming from the barista’s lips, Holden Hart kept springing up in her periphery. She would have to shut that down.
Sliding the volume up on her phone, she let the warbling sounds of Bing Crosby’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” drown out the cacophony of noise within the shop.
During her struggle for sleep the night before, she had taken advantage of that restless time and put together a playlist of holiday carols to keep on rotation for their noble fir. Later today, when she finished working on her business plan, she would head to the general store to pick up an outdoor Bluetooth speaker. While she appreciated her dad’s efforts in singing directly to the tree, it wasn’t practical, not when the temperatures dipped into the teens and the sun set before five o’clock. If he truly believed music helped things grow, then Rachel would make sure the best Christmas crooners around serenaded that evergreen twenty-four-seven.
She pulled open her document on the screen, took another motivating breath, and began clicking across the keyboard. The volume on her phone must’ve been too high, as she didn’t hear her order when called, and instead startled when a server popped up behind her, beverage in hand.
“I didn’t want it to get cold up on the bar,” the teenage girl said with a braces-filled grin.
“Oh, thank you.” Rachel tugged the earbuds free and took the cup. “I appreciate it.”
The man next to her edged a smile in her direction. The intrusion would have annoyed her, but it was altogether impossible not to be in one another’s space.
“Excellent service here,” he said when their gazes met. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he’d shed his enormous parka and now sat at his table dressed in a hunter green, long-sleeved Henley that pulled the flecks of jade from his eyes.
Rachel shook her head. She couldn’t let the distraction of a handsome man keep her from the day’s goals. She redirected her focus to the screen and sipped on her drink, letting the warm promise of energy lift her spirits.
“I’ve never quite understood those.”
She should have put her earbuds back in. “Excuse me?”
The man nudged his chin toward her hands. “Those gloves without the fingers. What purpose do they serve?”
“They keep my hands warm.” Brow furrowed, Rachel angled back to the work in front of her, hoping her action served as a period at the end of the unwanted conversation.
