Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Kathryn
T he sun's setting as I make my way to the lodge, painting the mountains in shades of pink and gold. I've swapped my blazer for a soft sweater. The pile of discarded clothes on the bed is proof that it wasn't my first choice.
My hands won't stop fidgeting with my hair, which is ridiculous because this is just a business dinner. Planning events. Strategic development. Nothing that explains why my stomach keeps doing little flips or why I had to redo my lip gloss twice.
I blame the altitude.
I expect to find the usual bustling great room, full of hiking-tired tourists and chattering families. Instead, Nolan's waiting at the entrance, looking unfairly handsome in a dark button-down that makes his eyes even bluer.
"No tablet?" He quirks an eyebrow at my empty hands.
"In my bag." I pat the leather tote that holds not only my tablet but three different proposal drafts. "I can be off-duty sometimes."
"We'll see about that." He gestures for me to follow him, not toward the main dining room but down a quieter hallway. "Aunt Evie thought we might want some space to work."
He opens a door to reveal a smaller room I didn't even know existed. A fire crackles in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows on walls lined with vintage photographs of the lodge. The table is set with gleaming silverware and wine glasses that catch the light from iron lanterns overhead.
"This is..." I swallow. "Cozy."
"Private dining room." Nolan pulls out my chair. "For special occasions."
"And business meetings qualify as special occasions?"
His hands linger on my chair as I sit. "Depends on the business."
Before I can process that, Evie sweeps in with a covered dish that fills the room with the rich aroma of her famous pot roast.
"You two work as late as you need." She sets down the dish with a knowing smile. "I'll make sure no one disturbs you."
"We won't be that long," I protest. "Just a quick planning session?—"
"The pot roast disagrees." Nolan's already lifting the lid, releasing more mouthwatering scents. "And you don't argue with Declan's pot roast."
"Is that a local ordinance?"
"Might as well be." He pours wine into my glass, and I definitely don't notice how the firelight plays across his forearms where he's rolled up his sleeves.
I reach for my bag. "While we eat, I can show you my ideas for?—"
"Nope." He gently pushes the bag away. "First rule of mountain dining. No work until after the pot roast."
"There are rules now?"
"Many." His eyes dance with amusement. "All strictly enforced."
The pot roast is every bit as legendary as promised, falling apart at the touch of a fork. Conversation flows as easily as the wine—about the lodge, about my time in Wilmington, about his marketing projects that have nothing to do with coffee shops.
"So there I am," he's saying, "trying to convince this luxury travel magazine that yes, we actually want them to feature our mud run event."
"No."
"Oh yes. Sent them pictures of Wall Street types covered head to toe in mountain mud. They loved it."
I'm laughing so hard I have to set down my wine glass. "Please tell me you have copies."
"Maybe." He leans back, watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "You have a great laugh, you know that?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I... thank you?"
"Don't hear it much when you're in corporate mode."
"I'm not always in corporate mode."
"No?" He leans forward, and suddenly the table feels much smaller. "Prove it. Tell me something that's not in your proposal drafts."
I should reach for my bag, steer us back to business. Instead, I find myself saying, "I collect refrigerator magnets."
His eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
"From everywhere I travel. My fridge looks ridiculous. This whole mismatched collage of places and memories."
"And what magnet will you choose for Elk Ridge?"
The way he's looking at me makes it hard to think. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe a mountain. Or a coffee cup."
"Basic." He shakes his head. "We'll have to find you something better."
We'll. The word hangs in the air between us.
"Right," I say quickly. "Speaking of coffee. Should we look at those event ideas?"
"If we must." But he's smiling as I pull out my tablet.
We spend the next hour planning, our heads bent close over various proposals. Nolan's insights transform my generic ideas into something uniquely Elk Ridge. A simple market becomes a celebration of mountain crafts. Live music nights evolve into storytelling sessions around the fireplace.
"What about the Wishing Wall?" He asks suddenly.
I freeze. "What about it?"
"Annie mentioned you had one in Wilmington."
"We did. Do." I trace the rim of my wine glass. "It started small. Just sticky notes on a wall. But it brought people together. Created connections."
"Sounds like the community bulletin board we used to have." His voice is quiet. "Before Cam."
And there it is. The elephant in our cozy room.
"What happened?" I ask softly. "Between you and Cam?"
Nolan stands abruptly, moving to the fireplace. The flames paint shadows across his face as he stares into them.
"It's not a quick story." He turns back to me. "And not one for tonight."
I want to press, to understand the history I'm walking into. But something in his expression stops me.
"Another time, then." I gather my things, suddenly aware of how late it's gotten. "Thank you for all of this."
He walks me to the door, and for a moment we just stand there, the fire crackling behind us. He's close enough that I can smell pine and wood smoke and something uniquely him.
"Kathryn?"
"Hmm?"
"Get a bear magnet."
I laugh, breaking the tension. "A bear?"
"Trust me." He opens the door. "It's very Elk Ridge."
I step into the hallway, but his voice stops me again.
"Same time tomorrow?"
I turn back, heart doing something complicated in my chest. "For work?"
That dangerous half-smile returns. "If that's what you want to call it."
I walk back to my room in a daze, my tablet full of perfect event plans and my mind full of firelight and blue eyes and the way he says my name.
The morning sun streams through Coffee Loft's windows, warming the exposed brick walls as local vendors set up their displays. I adjust a stack of blank cards near our newly installed Wishing Wall, fighting the urge to check my phone for the hundredth time.
Nolan leans against the counter, watching Annie arrange fresh pastries from Miller's Bakery. His skepticism is clearly visible, but at least he showed up.
"Quite a transformation." He gestures to Marie's wildflower arrangements brightening each table. "Though the corporate overlords might object to all this local color."
"The corporate overlords encouraged it." I straighten a crooked frame. "Some of us actually read the franchise manual."
His reply is cut off by the first customers arriving. Soon the space is humming with conversation and the scent of fresh coffee. Sara Miller's sample tray of scones disappears in minutes. Marie chats with customers about her flower arrangements. The Wishing Wall slowly fills with colorful cards, each one a hope or need waiting to be answered.
"Well, well." A familiar voice cuts through the pleasant buzz. "Look who's worked a miracle."
Cam stands in the doorway, designer suit stark against the homey atmosphere we've created. His smile doesn't reach his eyes as he surveys the crowd.
"Hardly a miracle." I gesture to the busy space. "Just giving the community what they want."
"What they want." He repeats the words like they're foreign. "And I see you've enlisted some local help."
Nolan straightens beside me, but his voice stays easy. "Just doing my civic duty. Supporting local business."
"How charitable." Cam's smirk could cut glass. "Though I didn't realize the mighty marketing genius of Mountain Laurel Lodge had time to play assistant."
The temperature in the room seems to drop. Several locals pause their conversations, watching.
"Funny." Nolan's tone is mild, but I feel him tense. "I remember making that same offer three years ago. You weren't interested in local expertise then."
"Ancient history." Cam waves this away. "Though I must say, your community spirit is touching. Almost as touching as that winter festival proposal you were so proud of."
Something dangerous flashes in Nolan's eyes.
"Keep things on track, Kathryn." Cam adjusts his tie. "We don't want to get too rustic."
He sweeps out, leaving a wake of whispers and sidelong glances.
"What was that about?" I turn to Nolan. "What winter festival?"
"Leave it."
"No." I touch his arm, feeling the tension there. "I need to understand what I'm walking into."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods toward the door. "Walk with me?"
Outside, the mountain air is crisp with approaching autumn. We fall into step together, heading toward the lodge.
"Three years ago," he says finally, "when Cam bought the franchise, the Callahans offered to help with the transition. We knew the community, the market. Had ideas about blending Coffee Loft's brand with local culture."
"And?"
"And Cam smiled and nodded and ignored every suggestion. Until winter came." His jaw tightens. "I'd been working on a festival concept. Something to bring people together during the slow season. Local vendors, music, activities for kids. Cam shut it down hard."
"But?"
"But three months later, there it was. Different name, slightly different format, but my concept. Right down to the hot chocolate station I'd planned." He laughs without humor. "When I confronted him, he said great minds think alike. Then he banned the lodge from participating."
"That's why you were so against helping me."
"Partly." He stops, turning to face me. "Look, I know you mean well. But Cam doesn't care about community or connection. He cares about a quick profit."
"I'm not Cam."
"No." His eyes soften as they meet mine. "You're not."
Something in his voice makes my heart skip. We're standing close—too close for colleagues, too far for whatever this pull between us is becoming.
"Thank you," I say softly. "For giving this a chance. For giving me a chance."
"Don't thank me yet." But there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before. "We still have to survive Cam's 'helpful suggestions.'"
"We?"
That dangerous half-smile returns. "Well, I can't let you ruin Coffee Loft's image all by yourself."
He's teasing, but there's something else in his expression. Something that makes me wonder what would happen if I took one step closer, if I?—
A car horn breaks the moment. We both step back, and I realize we've reached the lodge's parking lot.
"I should check on the market," I say quickly.
"Right." He runs a hand through his hair. "Wouldn't want things getting too rustic."
I watch him climb the lodge steps, wondering how someone can feel simultaneously so familiar and so out of reach.