Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Kathryn
" W e granted twenty-seven wishes this week." I make another note on my tablet. "And I’m guessing it’s even more community connections formed."
The numbers are impressive, but they feel hollow this morning. The coffee shop hums with its usual activity. Annie crafts lattes, regulars check the wall for new wishes and Old Joe in his corner shows off his first attempt at knitting. Everything's working exactly as planned.
So why does success taste like black coffee gone cold?
My phone sits silent beside my tablet. No response to my text about vendor arrangements for the harvest festival. No trademark dry comments about corporate efficiency. No Nolan.
"Earth to Kathryn." Jake drops into the chair across from me. "You've been staring at that same spreadsheet for ten minutes."
"I'm analyzing data."
"You're brooding."
"I don't brood." But I find myself glancing at the door again, like a certain flannel-wearing marketing expert might materialize if I wish hard enough. "I'm just thinking."
"About why Mountain Man's been MIA since the farmers' market?"
I close my tablet with more force than necessary. "He's busy with the lodge. Weekend rush, remember?"
"Right." Jake's voice drips skepticism. "That's why you keep checking your phone like it might explode."
"I'm expecting an email from corporate."
"And I'm expecting to sprout wings." He leans forward. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. That's the problem." I fidget with my coffee cup. "One minute we're planning events, talking about community connections, and the next he's practically running away when I stop by the lodge."
"Men are idiots."
"Says the man."
"Exactly. I speak from experience." He grins, but his eyes are serious. "Though sometimes we have reasons for our idiocy."
Before I can ask what he means, Cam emerges from his office. He's traded his usual suit for designer casual wear, looking like a GQ spread on "rustic chic."
"Numbers looking good?" He stops at our table, standing just a fraction too close.
"Very." I angle my tablet away from his gaze. "The Wishing Wall is exceeding expectations."
"Just like its creator." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We should celebrate. Dinner, perhaps? Discuss future initiatives."
"Actually, I'm pretty booked with event planning." I gesture to my work spread across the table. "But thanks."
"Another time, then." He trails his fingers across the back of my chair as he moves away. "My door's always open."
I suppress a shudder.
"Want me to accidentally spill his next latte?" Jake offers once Cam's out of earshot.
"Tempting, but no." I gather my things, needing to move. "I'm going to check the wall."
The Wishing Wall has evolved since its installation. People have started adding small photos, drawings, even pressed flowers to their cards. Each wish tells a story: Looking for gardening advice - my tomatoes need help! Need tips for making the perfect pie crust. Seeking chess partners for Tuesday afternoon games. Need help organizing Grandma's photo albums before Christmas.
I add a few blank cards to the basket, straightening ones that have gone crooked. A child's crayon drawing catches my eye—a wobbly house with "thank you for helping mom" scrawled beneath it.
This is what matters. This is what makes Coffee Loft special. This is what Nolan helped create, whether he wants to acknowledge it now or not.
My phone buzzes. For a moment, hope flares, but it's just corporate requesting another progress report.
"Hey." Sophia appears beside me, camera in hand. "Want to help me document some wish stories? I'm thinking of doing a photo series about connections made."
"Sure." I welcome the distraction. "Though shouldn't we wait for your better half?"
"Jake's got a foundation meeting." She starts setting up her shot. "Besides, I think you could use the company."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's been watching you keep an eye on the door all morning." She adjusts her lens. "Want to talk about it?"
"Nothing to talk about." I straighten another wish card. "Sometimes people withdraw."
"And sometimes they need a push to explain why." She snaps a photo of Old Joe teaching a teenager about local fishing spots. "Jake was like that at first. So sure he knew how stories would end, he almost missed his own."
"Nolan's not Jake."
"No." She reviews her shot. "He’s acting like someone who's been hurt before, watching history apparently repeat itself."
I think of his abrupt exit from the farmers' market, how he wouldn't meet my eyes at the lodge. "What do you mean, apparently?"
But Sophia's already focused on her next shot, leaving me to puzzle over her words.
The morning crowd starts thinning, regulars heading to work with promises to check their matched wishes later. I add a few more blank cards to the basket, my fingers lingering on the soft paper.
A note card catches my eye, pinned high above the others. The handwriting is familiar, but the card is just out of reach. Just like its author.
My tablet chimes with another corporate email, but for once, I let it wait. Instead, I pull out a blank wish card, turning it over in my hands.
"So," Jake says, sliding into our usual corner booth at Miller's Bakery, "are we going to talk about why you're mainlining Sara's cinnamon rolls?"
I look down at the half-eaten pastry in front of me. "They're good for market research."
"Uh-huh." Sophia settles in beside him. "And the fact that this booth has a perfect view of Mountain Laurel Lodge's entrance is just coincidence?"
"Complete coincidence." But I find myself checking the door again, watching for a familiar truck. "I needed a break from the coffee shop."
"From the coffee shop, or from Cam's 'casual' chats with you?" Jake's voice carries an edge.
I tear my roll into smaller pieces. "He's being enthusiastic about our success."
"He's being inappropriate," Sophia corrects gently. "And you're letting him because you're worried about the coffee shop."
"I'm handling it."
"By hiding at Sara's?"
"I'm not hiding." But even I don't believe it anymore. "I just need to figure out how to maintain professional boundaries without compromising everything we've built."
"And that's the only thing bothering you?" Jake raises an eyebrow. "Nothing to do with a certain mountain man turned marketing expert who's suddenly too busy to return texts?"
The cinnamon roll turns to ash in my mouth. "Nolan made his choice clear."
"Did he?" Sophia leans forward. "Or did he see something that made him jump to conclusions?"
I think back to the farmers' market, to Cam's hovering presence, to Nolan's abrupt departure. "Oh."
"There it is." Jake grins. "The famous Kathryn Taylor lightbulb moment."
"But that's ridiculous. Cam was being... Cam. Surely Nolan doesn't think?—"
"Men," Sophia says wisely, "are remarkably unobservant when their emotions are involved."
"Hey!" Jake protests.
"You thought I was interested in that artist who did the mural."
"He kept asking to take you out to dinner."
"Because he was hoping for exposure and free marketing."
I laugh despite myself, but my eyes drift back to the lodge. "Even if that's true, Nolan's made it pretty clear he doesn't want to discuss it."
"Since when do you let other people's walls stop you?" Jake's voice gentles. "The Kathryn I know would march right up there and demand answers."
"The Kathryn you know wasn't trying to save a coffee shop while managing a handsy boss."
"No," Sophia agrees, "but she never let fear of complications stop her from fighting for what matters."
"I'm not afraid."
They both give me identical looks of disbelief.
"Okay, fine." I push away my mangled cinnamon roll. "Maybe I'm a little afraid. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Jake deadpans. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do? Nolan barely looks at me, Cam won't back off, and the coffee shop?—"
"Is thriving," Sophia interrupts. "Thanks to you. Thanks to your vision and your heart and your refusal to give up on what matters."
"She's right." Jake covers my hand with his. "The coffee shop will be fine. But you won't be if you keep letting Cam make you uncomfortable and Nolan make you doubt yourself."
"I don't doubt myself."
"No?" Sophia's smile is knowing. "Then why haven't you written your own wish yet?"
I start to protest, then stop. I’ve started to, but she's right. I've been so busy helping others' wishes come true, I haven't dared to acknowledge my own.
"What would you wish for?" Jake asks softly.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of flannel and dark hair. It’s Nolan, heading toward his truck. He pauses, looking toward the bakery, and for a moment our eyes meet through the glass.
Then he's gone, and I'm left with the ghost of what could have been.
"I'd wish," I say slowly, "for the courage to fight for what matters. All of it. The coffee shop, this town..." I take a deep breath. "And whatever this thing with Nolan could be, if we both stopped being so stubborn."
"Now that," Sophia says, "sounds like the Kathryn we know."
"But Cam?—"
"Needs clear boundaries," Jake finishes. "And if he can't respect them, that's a corporate HR issue, not a reflection on you."
They're right. About all of it. The coffee shop is more than Cam's agenda. The community is more than corporate metrics. And Nolan.
Nolan is worth fighting for.
"Okay." I stand, straightening my shoulders. "I need a wish card."
"That's my girl." Jake grins. "Going to write your heart out?"
"No." I gather my things, determination replacing uncertainty. "I'm going to climb a ladder and read whatever ridiculously high wish someone left on my wall."
"And then?"
I think of Nolan's quiet strength, his dedication to this town, the way he looks at me when he thinks I don't notice.
"And then I'm going to prove that some wishes are worth fighting for."