Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Nolan
" M ind if I borrow that?" I nod toward the wrench in Aunt Evie's hand. She's been trying to fix a loose railing on the front porch for the last ten minutes, while guests stream past her on their way to Connor's morning hiking tour.
"Be my guest." She steps back, wiping her brow. "Though I almost had it."
"Sure you did." I take her place, tightening the bolt with probably more force than necessary. "Like you almost fixed the kitchen sink last month. And the shower in Cabin Four. And the?—"
"That sink had a mind of its own." She settles into a nearby rocking chair, watching me work. "Kind of like that scowl you've been wearing since yesterday. The one that sent poor Jameson running when he asked for help with the activity schedule."
I focus on the railing. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Her chair creaks softly. "So it has nothing to do with our newest guest? The one you were so charming with on her first night?"
The wrench slips, and I barely hold back a curse. A young family passes by, their kids racing toward the activity center where Jameson is setting up the morning's crafts. Normal lodge life going on while my world feels slightly tilted.
"You mean corporate's latest fix-it expert?" I move to the next loose bolt. "Here to streamline and optimize and whatever other buzzwords they're using these days?"
"Kathryn seems lovely."
"They always do." The metal groans under my grip. "Right up until the spreadsheets come out and suddenly words like 'community' and 'connection' turn into 'profit margins' and 'efficiency metrics.'"
"Bitter doesn't suit you, dear. You're starting to sound like Old Joe when the grocery store stopped carrying his favorite pickles."
"At least Joe got his pickles back. Our coffee shop? That's gone for good."
Aunt Evie's quiet for a moment, just the sound of her rocker and early morning birdsong. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Kathryn crossing the great room in another one of her tailored blazers. My hands tighten on the wrench.
"You know," Aunt Evie says finally, "your mother always said judgment was like morning fog."
"Let me guess? It burns off if you give it time?"
"Only if you're willing to wait for the sun." She pours coffee from her thermos into two mugs, holding one out to me. "Remember how you used to experiment with coffee drink recipes? Spend hours getting the combinations just right?"
"That was different. That was about creating something special."
"And who's to say that's not what Kathryn wants too?"
I take the coffee, noticing again that it's not from Coffee Loft. None of us get coffee there anymore. Haven't since Cam Prescott decided local suppliers weren't cost-effective enough. Since community events didn't fit his vision of quick turnover and higher profits.
"This isn't about judgment," I say, leaning against the now-stable railing. "It's about experience. Coffee Loft sends these people in with their big ideas and bigger promises, but they don't understand Elk Ridge. Don't want to understand it. They see a struggling mountain town location and think they can fix it by making it just like their city shops."
"Like you didn't want to understand that young man from the ski resort? The one you said would turn our winter activities into a 'tourist trap'? The same one who's now our best seasonal partner?"
"That was different."
"Was it?" She sips her coffee, eyes twinkling. "You know what else your mother used to say about snap judgments?—"
"Please, no more mom quotes this early in the morning."
"Fine. Then hear it from me." She sets her mug down. "People can surprise you. If you let them."
"Even corporate lackeys?"
"Especially people we've already decided not to like." She picks up her coffee again. "Did you know Kathryn asked about your hazelnut macchiato?"
Something twists in my chest. Mom's favorite. The one we spent weeks perfecting with Mr. Peterson. "Probably wondering why it's taking up menu space."
"Actually, she's been fighting to keep it. Along with the other original specialties. Seems she believes Coffee Loft locations should reflect their communities."
"Right." I grab the wrench again, needing something to do with my hands. "Next you'll tell me she wants to bring back open mic nights and local art shows."
Aunt Evie's silence makes me look up.
"No," I say flatly.
"She mentioned something about community boards and local partnerships..."
"Because that worked so well last time?"
"Not everyone is Cam Prescott, dear." She stands, collecting our mugs. "Did you know she ran the Wilmington location? Apparently, they have something called a Wishing Wall. Brings the whole community together."
"Community isn't something you can franchise."
"No," she agrees. "But maybe some people understand that better than others." She pauses at the door. "Your mother also used to say the best views come after the hardest climbs. Food for thought, dear."
I watch her go, then turn back to the railing. It's solid now, no matter how hard I shake it. The morning sun breaks through the trees, casting long shadows across the porch. In the distance, I hear Connor's group setting out on their hike, their voices bright with anticipation.
"Fine," I mutter to the morning air. "I'll keep an open mind."
A chickadee lands on the railing, tilting its head at me.
"But I'm not going to like it."
The bird chirps what sounds suspiciously like laughter before flying away, leaving me alone with thoughts of hazelnut macchiatos and community boards and the way Kathryn's eyes lit up when she first saw the mountains.
The Saturday market turns our town square into organized chaos, like it does every weekend. Local vendors set up their stalls under striped awnings, selling everything from honey to hand-knitted scarves. Usually, I'm here early to network with potential lodge partners, but today I'm running late after fixing that railing.
I'm discussing winter festival plans with Beth, who makes the best apple butter in three counties, when a laugh catches my attention. A familiar laugh, but somehow different from the polished chuckle I heard at the lodge.
Kathryn Taylor stands at Marie's flower stall, but she's not the corporate warrior I saw yesterday. Her hair's pulled back in a casual ponytail, and she's wearing jeans and a soft-looking sweater the color of mountain laurel blooms. Running shoes instead of those city heels. She's holding up a bunch of wildflowers, head tilted as she listens to Marie explain something about their meanings.
She looks comfortable. Like she belongs here among the market crowd instead of in some corporate boardroom.
"Earth to Nolan." Beth waves her hand in front of my face. "Should I come back when you're done staring?"
"I wasn't—" But Beth's already grinning and packing up a jar of apple butter.
"On the house," she says, pressing it into my hands. "For entertainment value."
I'm about to protest when Kathryn spots me. Something flickers across her face before she smiles. It's not her professional smile from the lodge. This one's got a hint of challenge in it.
"Mr. Mountain Man." She tucks her flowers into a canvas market bag. "No flannel today? I'm disappointed."
"Casual Friday was yesterday." I gesture to her outfit. "But I see you got the memo about dress code today."
"What, this old thing?" She does a playful twirl that belongs more at a county fair than a corporate takeover. "Turns out heels aren't ideal for market reconnaissance."
"Is that what this is?" I lean against Marie's stall. "Gathering intel on local commerce patterns?"
"Absolutely." She pulls a notepad from her bag with exaggerated seriousness. "Item one: Marie's wildflowers would look much better than those sad fake plants currently gathering dust at—" She breaks off, something uncertain crossing her face.
"At the coffee shop?" I finish, surprised to find the words don't taste as bitter as they did this morning.
"Sorry." She tucks the notepad away. "I know it's a sore subject."
"Everything's a sore subject in a small town." I surprise myself by adding, "But you're right about Marie's flowers."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Was that almost an agreement, Nolan Callahan?"
"Must be the fresh air affecting my judgment."
Marie, who's been pretending not to listen, snorts. "Or maybe your aunt's morning pep talk?"
Kathryn's eyebrows rise. "Evie gives pep talks?"
"More like wisdom wrapped in mountain metaphors." The words come out before I can stop them, easy and natural.
"Let me guess. Something about fog lifting?"
"How did you?—"
"She might have tried a few on me too." Kathryn adjusts her market bag, and I catch the scent of wildflowers and something warm, like vanilla. "Though mine was about mountain streams finding their path."
"That's a new one."
"I suspect she has an endless supply."
We share a smile, and for a moment I forget why I'm supposed to be keeping my distance. Then I spot Cam Prescott across the square, heading toward his German sports car, and reality crashes back.
"Well." Kathryn must see something change in my expression. "I should get these in water."
"Right. Wouldn't want to delay your market reconnaissance report."
"Oh, absolutely." That challenging smile returns. "Corporate's very interested in Beth's apple butter techniques. Could be franchise-changing material."
I watch her weave through the market crowd, her ponytail swinging, those wildflowers peeking from her bag. She stops to help an older lady pick up a dropped apple, chats with the honey vendor, high-fives a kid selling painted rocks.
"She's not what you expected, is she?" Marie starts wrapping up her leftover flowers.
"She's exactly what I expected," I lie. "Corporate charm in casual clothes."
Marie hums noncommittally. "You know what your mother used to say about?—"
"Don't you start too."