Page 20

The next two hours go by in a blur. Isabel closes for lunch and then disappears to her car to decompress for an hour. I need to escape the overwhelming scent of flowers and end up making my way across the road to Monroe’s sister’s coffee shop. Baked & Brewed is hands down the best coffee shop in all the land.

Wind blows off the bay and sends prickles of icy snow dancing across my face. I pull my coat tighter as I hurry to the coffee shop. It’s lit up with an ungodly amount of Christmas lights, like a beacon for me. As I near, I can smell the rich scent of coffee beans and chocolate.

The place is hopping, much like the floral shop, and there are even a few customers I helped earlier inside. I manage to weave my way through people standing about, laughing and talking, to find my way to the register. Hattie, Monroe’s sister, grins when she sees me.

“What can I get ya, Sandy?” She pushes a red and white card across the glass top of the refrigerated display case that’s full of sweet treats. “You must try something from our new holiday menu.”

I quickly scan the menu and find it difficult in deciding which one to get. The Snowy Budgie Brew is a white chocolate peppermint latte dusted with sparkling sugar. Sounds delicious. Then, there’s the Harbor Hearth Mocha which is a dark chocolate mocha with toasted marshmallow syrup and smoked sea salt. Oh, wow. Yum. When I see the next item, my chest tightens.

Goldie’s Christmas Comfort. It’s a maple-orange latte with warm spices, topped with cinnamon and a dried candied orange slice. Was this something my mother drank?

There are reminders of her everywhere. This town loved my mother. My eyes water and I feel as though I’m seconds from breaking down in the middle of everyone.

A strong, warm presence approaches me from behind and I nearly sink against it. I recognize the man’s scent almost immediately. Upton.

“I think you should get The Lovebird Latte,” he says, voice a deep rumble as he reads over my shoulder. “You can’t go wrong with a vanilla-honey latte with cinnamon, topped with whipped cream and a tiny gingerbread heart.”

Dad always calls me his little lovebird.

Gah, this town is actively trying to turn my hardened heart into a mushy pile of goo.

“I’ll take that,” I tell Hattie. “And whatever he’s getting. My treat.”

When he orders the Goldie’s Christmas Comfort, my heart hammers in my chest. There’s no getting away from the painful memories in this town. They’re everywhere.

“I threw my coat down on a table over there,” Upton says, gesturing near a bookshelf in the corner. “There’s a kid playing with his cars on the floor, but you’re wearing boots, so your toes are safe.”

I fork over some cash to Hattie and then allow Upton to show me to his table. Sure enough, there’s a small boy making “vroom” sounds as he drives his cars all over the floor between the table and bookshelf. A woman is sitting in an armchair nearby with an eagle eye on her son while she nurses a baby. They’re all wearing matching Rudolph jammies which makes me wonder if they just came from a photo session.

My heart warms as I think of many Christmases where me and Nora would dress up in matching pajamas.

Upton never got to see it.

The sourness in my gut has bile creeping up my throat. By the time he pulls out a chair for me to sit, I’m green around the gills.

“What’s wrong?” Upton asks, a concerned frown on his face. “Are you feeling okay?”

I nod but can feel tears welling in my eyes. Out of impulse, I reach over to grab his hand. At first, he is still, but then he tightly squeezes my hand.

“Today’s been hard,” I admit with a choked laugh.

“There was a line out of the store. Been waiting for it to slow down all day so I could come visit.”

This has a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “Have you been staking out my workplace, Upton Asbury?”

“Guilty.” He grins and winks at me. “I knew parking my butt here was a good move. You’re predictable when it comes to coffee.”

Memories flood my mind. We spent many afternoons in coffee shops while studying for our college courses. It was always relaxing and easy with Upton.

“It’s not the customers,” I admit, though it’s difficult to. “It’s the memories. People remember her and speak so fondly of her. So many people honor her around here. Like naming drinks after her.”

He nods in understanding. “I can understand how that would be a painful reminder.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I say in a hoarse tone. “I’m grateful Mom was so loved by our community. My grief is just complicated.”

“I understand that.” His eyes bore into me. “Grief isn’t always death of a loved one. It can be the absence of one who is very much alive.”

Guilt and shame wash over me like a tidal wave. Upton runs his thumb over my flesh in a comforting way.