Coffeehouse Confessions (The Alphabet Sweethearts #3)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ethan

T he morning crowd at Novel Sips has thinned to a gentle trickle when Hazel Elliott slides into the chair across from me, her signature paisley scarf trailing wisps of lavender. "You're brooding again, dear."

I close my fountain pen, carefully setting it beside my notebook. "I'm writing."

"Mm." She sets her teacup down with practiced grace. "That particular furrow between your brows suggests otherwise."

Before I can defend myself, Andrew appears with Hazel's usual Earl Grey refresh. He pushes his glasses up and glances at my still-blank page. "Writer's block?"

"Just thinking." I lean back, taking in the familiar comfort of the shop. The wall of windows letting in spring sunshine, the carefully curated shelves, the soft murmur of conversations wrapped in coffee steam. "About why I came here."

"Ah." Hazel's knowing smile makes me wonder, not for the first time, if she can read minds. "Having second thoughts about leaving the big city behind?"

"No." The answer comes quickly, surprising even me with its certainty. "The city was..." I search for the right words, the kind that used to come so easily when I was reporting other people's stories. "Too loud. Too many voices drowning out my own."

Andrew nods, pulling up a chair. The shop's quiet enough that he can take a break, though I notice he positions himself to keep an eye on the counter. "That's why I opened Novel Sips. Needed my own space to build something real."

Through the bookcases, I catch a glimpse of Maggie restocking the romance section, her dark curls escaping from a messy bun as she arranges covers with careful attention. She's humming something under her breath, swaying slightly as she works.

"Speaking of building something real," Hazel says, following my gaze with far too much interest, "how was the writer's group yesterday?"

I drag my attention back to my coffee. "It was helpful. Different from what I'm used to."

"Maggie mentioned you write science fiction," Andrew says, his tone careful. "Time travel?"

"Among other things." I trace the rim of my cup, remembering Maggie's joke about unscrambling eggs. "It's about second chances, really. About what we'd do differently if we could go back, knowing what we know now."

"Sounds rather personal," Hazel observes.

I shrug, uncomfortable with how close to the mark she is. "Most writing is, I suppose."

"And how are you finding our little town?" Hazel asks. "Beyond the peace and quiet?"

"It's..." I glance up again, just as Maggie breaks into a full smile at whatever she's reading. The morning light catches her face, and something in my chest tightens. "It's surprising."

Andrew clears his throat, and I quickly look away. "Well, we're glad to have you here," he says, standing. "Even if some of us are a bit concerned about your career choices."

"Andrew," Hazel chides gently.

"What? I'm allowed to worry when my best friend quits a perfectly good job to write novels."

"The same way you worried when your sister moved back home to figure out her path?" Hazel's voice is mild, but there's steel beneath the sweetness.

Andrew sighs, running a hand through his hair. "That's different."

"Is it?" Hazel sips her tea, eyes twinkling. "Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is start over. Isn't that right, Ethan?"

I open my notebook again, trying to focus on the blank page rather than the way Maggie's laugh carries across the shop. "Right."

But as I uncap my pen, I wonder if starting over would be easier if it didn't mean navigating between my best friend's protectiveness and his sister's increasingly distracting presence.

"More coffee?" Maggie's voice makes me jump. She's suddenly there, coffee pot in hand, wearing a t-shirt with a constellation of coffee stains that somehow looks charming rather than messy.

"Please." I hold out my cup, careful not to let our fingers brush.

"One black coffee for the serious sci-fi writer," she says with a wink. "Try not to unscramble any eggs while I'm not looking."

She's gone before I can respond, leaving behind the scent of coffee and something floral, and the distinct impression that staying focused in Juniper Falls might be harder than I'd planned.

Hazel's knowing chuckle tells me I'm not hiding anything nearly as well as I think I am.

I'm halfway through a paragraph about temporal paradoxes when Maggie appears with another coffee refill. She's switched to a different t-shirt, this one with a quote about books being magic, and she's talking about some theory involving parallel universes and coffee shops.

"—so technically, there could be infinite versions of Novel Sips, right? Maybe in one of them, you're the barista and I'm writing the next great American novel."

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite my usual reservations. "I think the universe is safer with you making the coffee."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because—" I start, but Andrew's voice cuts through our conversation.

"Ethan. A word?"

Something in his tone makes me close my notebook. Maggie rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she heads back to the counter, but Andrew's expression doesn't soften.

He leads me to the small office behind the register, closing the door with deliberate care. The space is pure Andrew. Everything is labeled, organized, scheduled. A wall calendar marked with color-coded events hangs beside spreadsheets tracking inventory and sales.

"Look," he says, removing his glasses to clean them. Never a good sign. "You know you're my best friend. And I'm glad you're here, trying to figure things out."

My stomach tightens. I've heard this tone before, usually right before someone explains why my choices are impractical. "But?"

"But I need you to keep your distance from Maggie."

The words hit harder than they should. "Andrew?—"

"She's just getting back on her feet after that mess in the city. The last thing she needs is to get involved with someone who's..." He trails off, rubbing his glasses with increasing intensity.

"Someone who's what?" My voice comes out sharper than intended.

He sighs, replacing his glasses. "Someone who's still figuring out their own life. Come on, Ethan. You left a solid career to write science fiction. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make it as a novelist? The odds of actually supporting yourself with fiction?"

"I've done my research." The words taste like coffee gone cold.

"Have you? Because from where I'm standing, you're taking a massive gamble. And that's your choice. But Maggie is my baby sister." He glances through the office window to where she's laughing with a customer. "She deserves stability. Security. Someone who knows what they want and how to get it."

"And you don't think I qualify."

"I think you're my friend, and I respect what you're trying to do. But I also think you're in the middle of blowing up your entire life to chase a dream. And Maggie," he shakes his head. "She's already done that once. I won't watch her do it again."

The worst part is, I can't entirely disagree with him. Every word hits a doubt I've been trying to ignore since I left my job. Since I moved here. Since I started noticing the way Maggie's presence makes the words flow easier.

"I haven't—" I swallow hard. "Nothing's happened."

"Let's keep it that way." Andrew's tone softens slightly. "Look, you're welcome here. Always. Just remember what I said."

I nod stiffly, gathering my notebook and pen. The office suddenly feels too small, too warm. Too full of practicality and proof that some people know exactly what they're doing with their lives.

"I should go," I say. "I've got some editing to do."

Andrew doesn't try to stop me as I head for the door. Through the window, I see Maggie look up, a question in her eyes. I force myself to look away.

Maybe it's time to find a new coffee shop. Or a new town. Somewhere I can write without worrying about disappointed friends or distracting baristas or all the ways I might not measure up to someone else's standards.