Coffeehouse Confessions (The Alphabet Sweethearts #3)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Ethan

T he evening crowd at Novel Sips has dwindled to a handful of regulars. Through the windows, the setting sun paints the sky in shades of pink and gold, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. I've been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, second-guessing every word, when a steaming cup appears beside my notebook.

"You look like you could use this." Maggie slides into the chair across from me, her own cup cradled in her hands. She's let her hair down, dark curls tumbling past her shoulders, and there's a smudge of flour on her cheek from the afternoon's baking. "Andrew's doing inventory, so I'm officially on break. Want to tell me what's got you looking so serious?"

I close my notebook instinctively, then force myself to reopen it. "It's not ready. It’s rough..."

"Good thing I like rough drafts." She props her chin on her hand. "They're like seeing behind the curtain of someone's imagination. All the messy, beautiful parts before everything gets polished up."

Something about the way she says it—like she genuinely wants to see the mess inside my head—makes me brave. Or reckless. "Promise not to laugh?"

"At your time-traveling romance? Never." Her eyes sparkle. "Well, unless it's funny. Then I reserve the right to appreciate your wit."

I flip to the scene I've been wrestling with. "It's the moment when James, my protagonist, realizes changing the past might mean losing Sarah in the present."

"The butterfly effect," she says, and my surprise must show because she grins. "What? I've been doing my homework. Now read."

Taking a deep breath, I begin: " The quantum equations were elegant, perfect in their cruel simplicity. Every change rippled forward, rewriting reality in ways he couldn't predict. He thought of Sarah's laugh, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, how she always seemed to see right through his careful facades. In trying to fix his past mistakes, he might erase the very thing that made his present worth living. "

I stop, heat creeping up my neck. "It's still rough, obviously. I need to?—"

"Don't you dare change a word." Maggie leans forward, close enough that I catch the scent of coffee and vanilla. "That's beautiful, Ethan. It's exactly how falling in love feels—being terrified that changing anything might break the spell."

Her words hit too close to home. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Maybe I am." She meets my eyes, and something electric passes between us. "Or maybe you're that good at making me feel things with your words."

"I used to be better with words," I admit. "Back when I was reporting. Everything was clearer then. Facts, quotes, deadlines. This is..."

"Scarier?"

"Harder." I run a hand through my hair. "When you're telling your own story, there's nowhere to hide."

"Why would you want to hide?" She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine where they rest on the notebook. "The best stories are the ones that feel real. Raw. Like the writer opened up their heart and let everything spill onto the page."

Her touch sends warmth spreading through my chest. "Is that what you look for? In the books you read?"

"It's what I look for everywhere." Her voice drops lower, intimate. "People who aren't afraid to be real. To take chances."

I'm suddenly aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to lean forward, to close the distance between us. Her eyes drop to my lips, and I feel myself swaying toward her, drawn by some force stronger than gravity.

"Maggie?" Andrew's voice carries from the back room. "Can you help me with these boxes?"

She closes her eyes, a soft curse escaping her lips. When she opens them again, there's something like regret mixed with determination in her gaze. "To be continued?"

"Yeah." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "To be continued."

She stands, but her hand lingers on mine for a moment longer. "For what it's worth? I think you're braver than you give yourself credit for. Opening yourself up like this, letting people see the real you. That takes courage."

"I'm not sure it's courage so much as..." I trail off, watching her gather our empty cups.

"What?"

"Having the right inspiration."

A slow smile spreads across her face, lighting up her eyes in a way that makes my heart stutter. "Keep writing like that, Mr. Ward, and you might make a sci-fi reader out of me yet."

She disappears into the back room, leaving me with the ghost of her touch on my skin and the certainty that I'm falling for my best friend's sister in a way that can't be undone with any amount of time travel.

The worst part? I'm not sure I want to undo it at all.

I'm packing up my things when Andrew appears beside my table, his expression grim. "We need to talk."

The evening sun has faded to twilight, casting long shadows through the windows. The last customers are filing out, leaving only the soft hum of the espresso machine as Maggie closes down the café side.

"Look," Andrew says, his voice low but intense. "I thought I made myself clear before."

"Andrew—"

"No, let me finish." He removes his glasses, polishing them with sharp, agitated movements. "I've watched you two all week. The private conversations, the shared looks. I saw you almost kiss her earlier."

Heat rises to my face. "That's not?—"

"She's my sister, Ethan. My little sister who just moved back home after having her dreams crushed in the city. And now you're here, filling her head with stories and possibilities when you can barely figure out your own life."

Each word hits like a physical blow. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" He replaces his glasses, fixing me with a hard stare. "Tell me, how's the novel coming? Any nibbles from publishers? Or are you still 'finding your voice' while burning through your savings?"

"I didn't come here to?—"

"To what? To complicate my sister's life? Because that's exactly what you're doing." He braces his hands on the table, leaning forward. "She deserves someone stable. Someone who can offer her more than coffee shop conversations and half-written manuscripts."

The worst part is, his words ring true. Every rejection letter, every blank page, every moment of wondering if I'm chasing an impossible dream—they all surge forward, threatening to drown me.

"That's enough."

We both turn to find Maggie standing there, her eyes blazing. How long has she been listening?

"Maggie," Andrew starts, "you don't understand?—"

"No, you don't understand." She moves to stand between us, and despite being shorter than both of us, she somehow fills the space. "I'm not some fragile thing you need to protect. I'm a grown woman who can make her own choices about who to spend time with."

"I'm just trying to?—"

"To what? Save me from the big bad writer?" Her laugh is sharp. "News flash, Andrew. I don't need saving. And I definitely don't need you telling me—or Ethan—what we deserve."

"He doesn't have a real job, Maggie. No stability, no?—"

"He has courage." She cuts him off, her voice fierce. "He had the guts to walk away from a career that was killing his soul to pursue something that matters to him. That takes more strength than playing it safe ever will."

My chest tightens at her words, at the absolute conviction in her voice.

"And what happens when his dream doesn't work out?" Andrew demands. "When he has to face reality like you did?"

"Then he faces it." She reaches back, finding my hand without looking. Her fingers lace through mine, warm and steady. "But he won't have to face it alone."

The simple touch grounds me, even as Andrew's words echo in my head. She squeezes my hand, as if sensing my inner turmoil.

"I love you," she tells Andrew, her voice softening slightly. "But you need to back off. I'm not asking your permission to care about someone. I'm telling you how it is."

Andrew looks between us, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. Finally, he sighs. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I do." She doesn't let go of my hand. "The question is, do you trust me enough to let me figure things out for myself?"

He doesn't answer, just shakes his head and walks away. The bell above the door chimes as he steps outside to clear his head like he always does when he's upset.

Maggie turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. "Hey. You okay?"

I should say yes. Should thank her for defending me. Should be stronger than this. Instead, I hear myself ask, "What if he's right?"

"About what?"

"About me. About this being selfish and impractical and?—"

She cuts me off by stepping closer, reaching up to touch my cheek. "The man I've gotten to know? He's anything but selfish. He's thoughtful and passionate and brave." Her thumb brushes my skin. "And he's writing a beautiful story about love transcending time because that's what he believes in. How is that impractical?"

I lean into her touch, fighting the urge to pull her closer. "Your brother?—"

"Will get over it." She smiles, soft and sure. "Some things are worth the risk, don't you think?"

Looking into her eyes, feeling the warmth of her hand against my cheek, I think about my protagonist and all his fears about changing the past. About how sometimes the scariest chances are the ones most worth taking.

"I'm starting to believe they are."