Latte Love (Cherry Falls #1)

Chapter 1

Muffins and Men in Uniform

MILLIE

It’s a quiet morning, and the sun is still hanging low, casting a soft, amber glow over town. I pull my jacket tight around my shoulders as I walk down Main Street. The street has wide brick sidewalks and buildings that look like they have been here for a hundred years or more.

Because they have.

Cherry Falls is a beautiful place, especially during the springtime months. But who am I to judge the place? I’m 100% biased.

It’s an adorable coastal town my parents found in Delaware about 30 years ago while on vacation.

They loved it so much they never left. Whenever they tell the story of finding Cherry Falls, they always say that it felt like home everywhere they looked.

Everyone knows everyone, which can be a blessing and a curse.

I have adored living in Cherry Falls since I was a little girl. Even now as a twenty-four-year-old woman, I love our quaint little town.

“Millie, do you think you will ever tire of this?” My best friend Harlow asks, walking beside me with a dramatic sigh. “I mean the smell of sugar, butter, and coffee first thing in the morning?”

A few months ago, I started renovating the old thrift store in town and began turning it into my very own cafe. Now I have a legitimate reason my home is always full of baked goods.

I’ve wanted to open a cafe for as long as I can remember. I made the choice to pursue business marketing at Cherry Falls College. During high school, I took baking classes, which only deepened my love of falling deep into a bowl of flour and sugar.

With a playful grin, I glanced at the bakery window, picturing the forest green oversized sofa that would invite customers to relax.

I spoke with my contractor, Dave, requesting permission to open the cafe for a trial period, although the renovations are still underway. So we came up with a plan to open at nine and stay open for three hours to continue construction.

“Are you kidding? This is exactly what heaven smells like! I just want to give the town something sweet to start their day off right. Plus, you know we will serve savory food. Like bagels?” Harlow rolls her eyes at my statement.

“Babes, not everyone shares your sugar addiction, and sure bagels are good.”

People know our town for its close-knit community, and the local cops have been going to coffee shops outside of town just to get a decent cup of coffee. So, at least I know the entire police department will be subject to this sugar addiction Harlow claims I have.

We pass by Old Man Harris, sweeping the sidewalk in front of his hardware store, his silver hair tousled by the wind.

“Morning, Harris!” I call out, raising a hand.

“Morning Millie! Harlow!” He tips his worn cap at us. “You’re looking chipper this morning. Hope you’re gonna be opening up soon with some good treats.”

I grin. “You know it. Hopefully, it will be open for good in a few weeks! Come in later. I have some muffins made for today.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “You had me at muffins. I’ll swing by after I finish my rounds here.”

People in town have been asking me nonstop for months when Beanstalk would open permanently. I even have some catering orders set in place already for some parties and events in the next couple of months.

We continue walking. The sun started to warm the chilly morning air. A few more locals wave to us as we pass, like they always do.

It never gets old, and it is the comfort of a small town.

“Har, I can’t stop stressing about everything that still needs to be done.”

“Yeah, but Mills, you have so many people in your life who have your back,” Harlow says.

Opening the cafe has been a lot of work, but Harlow is right. I have a great support system.

My two older brothers, Reuben and Asher, have been helping with a lot of the building. They built me a little bookshelf to display books for people to read as they please. They have even worked closely with the contractor to make sure all of my dreams come true at the end of this journey.

My older sister Kenna has been helping with all the interior design. From running towns over to pick up paints and light fixtures to ordering around the workers on how everything should look. She has been the boss lady of the century.

I love how much Kenna wants to be involved. Despite being a business owner and hairdresser in the building next to mine, she has been very hands-on in helping.

My youngest sibling, Lucie, who is only nineteen, has helped me full-time until she is ready for college.

She designed our whimsical butterfly logo and will manage the workers once they begin.

Lucie is in charge of all the social media accounts for Beanstalk.

Even going as far as creating content that will hopefully attract more customers to our little slice of heaven here in Cherry Falls.

Thank God for her help with the social media, because she is always up to date with the current trends.

This morning, the family group chat “Beanstalk Builders” is buzzing with activity. Reuben sent a photo of a crooked coat hook he wanted to fix, Kenna followed with five clapping emojis, and Lucie contributed a TikTok teaser idea. I chuckle as I read it. They’re chaos, but they’re my chaos.

We round the corner, and I spot the cafe in front of us, the wooden boards still up on the windows, blocking out the view of what is happening inside.

The smell of freshly baked goods is already on my mind.

But the “COMING SOON” sign still proudly displays in the window, stopping me from fully living out my dreams.

“Morning, Millie!” Lila, the supermarket owner, calls from her doorway. Her hair is in the same bun at her neck, like I’ve always known.

The espresso machine hasn’t shipped yet, so I haven’t been able to experiment with any fun drinks, but I have been baking at home and bringing in treats every day for the trial run.

My brothers assembled the custom tables that arrived over the weekend.

I’ve spent months carefully selecting paint samples and designing the perfect tables, and they look like were pulled straight from a vintage magazine.

We’ve collected mismatched chairs, each telling a story of the many thrift stores I explored.

My café is exactly how I envisioned it, and I planned every detail down to the last napkin.

Every corner of this place holds a piece of me.

The café will open soon, but I want everything to be perfect. I’ve dreamt of this place for so long.

I want my café to be a cozy escape for the residents of Cherry Falls.

I want it to feel like a cozy escape—where laughter feels louder, coffee tastes warmer, and strangers become regulars.

Harlow follows me inside, still shaking her head. “I’m honestly surprised you’re not sick of this place yet.”

I laugh as I tie my apron on, the familiar feel of the fabric wrapping around my waist like a second skin

“I’m not worn out. I’ve been carrying the dream of opening this place for years, and now it’s finally alive,” I say, moving to the freezer to pull some pastries to put on the counter.

“This place isn’t just about coffee and pastries, Har. It’s a place for the community, for the people to feel like they belong. It’s about slowing down and enjoying the moment.”

“That’s very ‘Hallmark heroine’ of you,” Harlow teases. “Next thing you know, some hot stranger is going to waltz into town and shake things up.”

When I finish getting the pastries out to thaw, I head into my small office in the back. I check my email for any updates on the rest of the furniture delivery and then to see if my contractor sent a firm date for the opening. I make a to-do list to keep me on track for hopefully opening soon.

1.Open the cafe

2.Serve customers

3.Email Kenna my choices for tables, chairs, and couches

4.Order display case for bakery items

5.Message Kenna about fabric samples

6.Have a Good Day!

Making lists is my coping mechanism.

In high school, I started creating agendas, occasionally organizing them into a block schedule. Of course, I always followed it to a T.

Something about making a list or blocking time on my schedule has always helped me handle the worry of having a busy schedule.

I check my watch and see that it is already 8:30. I decide to spend the rest of my time in the front preparing for the day since the cafe isn’t formally open for business.

The next hour and a half flies by as I restock the limited pastries I offer and refill all the variations of milk, creamers, coffees, and teas. I turn to find Harlow leaning against the doorframe with a tray of the warmed croissants in hand.

She looks like she just walked out of a Pinterest board for casual perfection—jeans, a loose blouse, and a confident smile that always seems to have a calming effect on me.

“I’m not pacing,” I reply quickly, straightening up and smoothing my hands down my apron. “Just thinking.”

“Uh-huh. About how you’re gonna mess up the soft opening of the business you have put your blood, sweat, and tears into?” Harlow teases, crossing the room and setting the tray down on the counter. She has always read my mind, sometimes almost too well.

“You’ve been obsessing over every little detail for months, Mills. Beanstalk is going to be a hit. People will line up down the street just to get a seat.”

I swallow hard. “What if they don’t? What if they hate it? What if no one shows up? I mean, I don’t even have an espresso machine yet. What if someone wants an espresso?”

“Woah, slow down, cowgirl,” Harlow interrupts, holding up a hand. “Deep breaths, please. You are going to do great! You’ve worked your ass off for this. Not to mention you’re more than prepared.”

My weak smile doesn’t stop the knot in my stomach from tightening. I’m ready, I tell myself. I’ve been preparing for months, and the big day is coming soon.

But it is not today. It’s okay to make mistakes today.

“Thanks, Har,” I mumble. “I just don’t know if I’m ready.”

Harlow gives me a pointed look. “You’re ready. You have been since high school. Now go check on those muffins you promised Old Man Harris.”

I nod, but before I can take another step, there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze. Who could that be? No one should be here. We don’t open for another thirty minutes.

“Uh, Mills, are you expecting anyone?” Harlow asks, glancing over to the door with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” I reply, frowning. “Maybe it’s just a curious early bird. Can you go to the back and get more pastries? I can get this.”

I walk over to the door, my shoes tapping lightly against the wooden floor. I reach for the handle, and just as I pull it open, I slam right into a wall of muscle.

I look up, dazed, and stare into the most enchanting caramel-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. His face is serious but handsome—sharp jawline, dark hair slightly tousled. Only then do I notice the uniform. A cop?

“Hey there, Bumper,” the man says.