Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Nolan
T he lodge kitchen is my refuge on busy days. Something about the rhythm of inventory and preparation settles my mind. Today I'm organizing supplies for tomorrow's breakfast service, letting the mundane task of counting coffee cups drown out thoughts of other coffee-related matters.
"You wished you had the courage to trust again."
The familiar voice freezes me mid-count. Kathryn stands in the doorway, holding a wrinkled wish card I distinctly remember pinning well out of reach.
"Borrowed a ladder," she says, answering my unspoken question. "Though you could have saved me the trouble by just talking to me."
"I'm kind of busy here." I turn back to the cups, though I've lost count completely.
"Yeah, these coffee cups look pretty demanding." She steps into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. "Almost as demanding as avoiding someone for days."
"I haven't been avoiding?—"
"Don't." Her voice catches. "Don't lie to me, Nolan. Not after this." She holds up the card. "Not after everything."
I force myself to look at her. She's wearing that soft sweater again, the one that makes her look like she belongs here. But her eyes are fierce, challenging.
"It was just a wish," I say finally. "Part of the demonstration."
"Really?" She moves closer. "So you regularly write about trust issues on community wish walls?"
"What do you want from me, Kathryn?"
"I want to understand what happened. One day we're planning events, talking about community, making something special. The next you can barely look at me."
"Nothing happened." I start restacking cups with more force than necessary. "We worked together on some events. They were successful. End of story."
"Is that what you really think?" She's close enough now that I can smell her vanilla-scented shampoo. "That all this was just business?"
"Wasn't it?" The words taste bitter. "You and Cam seemed pretty clear on the business aspects."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "So that's what this is about. You saw Cam?—"
"I saw exactly what I needed to see." A cup clatters to the counter. "You two make a perfect corporate team."
"You're wrong." But there's more hurt than heat in her voice. "And if you actually believe that, then you never knew me at all."
"I know enough." I grip the edge of the counter, needing something solid. "I know how these stories go. Corporate partnerships, strategic alliances?—"
"Stop it." She slams the wish card down between us. "You don't get to rewrite what happened to fit your assumptions. You want to know what really happened with Cam? He made unwanted advances that I've been professionally deflecting because I'm trying to save a coffee shop that means something to this town. To you."
The knot in my chest tightens. "Kathryn?—"
"But you didn't bother to ask, did you? You just decided you knew better. Decided to pull away. To stop trusting." She picks up the card again. "Guess your wish came true, just not the way you meant it."
"That's not fair."
"No?" Her voice wavers. "Then tell me what is fair, Nolan. Tell me why you really wrote this wish. Tell me why you've been avoiding me. Tell me something real."
I look at her—really look at her—and see the truth I've been avoiding. There's no corporate calculation in her eyes. No strategic alliance. Just hurt and hope and a challenge I'm suddenly terrified to answer.
"I can't." The words come out harder than intended. "Some things are better left as business."
She steps back like I've struck her. "Right. Business." She straightens her shoulders, and I watch the warmth drain from her expression. "Thank you for clarifying our professional relationship. I won't make the mistake of assuming anything more."
"Kathryn, wait?—"
But she's already gone, taking her vanilla scent and her soft sweater and her ability to make me question everything I thought I knew with her.
Through the kitchen window, I watch her cross the parking lot. She doesn't look back. Doesn't see me pick up the wish card she left behind. Doesn't hear me curse my own stubbornness.
You wished you had the courage to trust again.
The words mock me now, written in my own hand. Some wishes come true in the worst possible ways.
The mountains disappear first when night falls, becoming shadows against a darker sky. The trees go next, their individual shapes melting into a mass of black. But the stars, they come alive, one by one, until the sky above Mountain Laurel Lodge glitters like broken glass on velvet.
I'm cataloging these changes from my spot on the front porch, a crumpled wish card still clutched in my hand, when Aunt Evie appears with two steaming mugs.
"Your mother used to do this too." She settles into the rocker beside me. "Whenever something was weighing on her, she'd sit out here and watch the night come in."
"I'm just getting some air."
"Mmm." She passes me a mug. "And that's why you've been out here since Kathryn left? Just enjoying the evening breeze?"
The tea is her special blend—herbs from her garden, steeped in memory and meaning. "I messed up."
"Yes." Her rocker creaks softly. "Though I suspect you knew that even before she confronted you with your own wish."
I look up sharply. "How did you?—"
"Small town." She sips her tea. "And Lisa has excellent hearing."
Of course she does.
"Want to tell me why you're out here brooding instead of fixing it?"
"I'm not brooding."
"No?" She gestures to the wish card I'm slowly destroying. "Just redesigning paper products?"
The mountain night wraps around us, cricket-song and owl-calls filling the silence. In the distance, a whippoorwill starts its evening chorus.
"I thought..." The words stick in my throat. "When I saw her with Cam, I thought it was happening again. Corporate partnerships, strategic alliances. They make their money and they leave."
“Ah, that’s what this is really about,” Aunt Evie says. "You’re afraid of being left behind. And it was easier to push her away than risk being wrong?"
"Than risk watching her leave." The admission costs me something. "Everyone leaves eventually. When they get what they came for."
Aunt Evie's quiet for a long moment. "Did I ever tell you about the first time your mother met your father?"
"Only about a thousand times."
"Then you'll remember she almost didn't give him a chance." There's a gentle understanding in her voice. "She was so sure he'd leave once the novelty of mountain life wore off, she nearly pushed him away first."
"Until he proved her wrong."
"No." She sets down her tea. "Until she was brave enough to risk being proven right—and discovered she was wonderfully wrong instead."
The wish card is barely legible now, wrinkled and worn by restless fingers. "It's not the same."
"Isn't it?" She reaches over, smoothing the card gently. "You wished for courage to trust again. But trust isn't about being certain. It's about being brave enough to risk uncertainty."
"I saw how she looked at me before she left." The memory twists in my chest. "Like I'd confirmed every bad thing she'd tried not to believe about me."
"Then prove her wrong."
"How?" The word comes out rougher than intended. "How do I fix something I broke because I was too scared to believe it could be real?"
"By being honest." Aunt Evie's voice gentles. "With her, and with yourself."
"About what?"
"About why you really wrote that wish. About why seeing her with Cam hurt so much. About why you're sitting out here in the dark instead of sleeping."
The whippoorwill's call echoes across the valley, lonely and persistent.
"She deserves better," I say finally. "Better than someone who runs at the first sign of complication."
"Probably." Aunt Evie stands, gathering our mugs. "But she wants you. Complications and all. The question is, are you brave enough to want her back?"
She leaves me with the night and the crickets and a truth I've been avoiding since I pinned that wish too high for anyone to reach.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over Kathryn's name. But what do you say when sorry isn't enough? When you need to explain why you built walls so high even you can't see over them anymore?
The wish card catches a breeze, nearly escaping. I smooth it flat, reading my own words in the porch light: You wished you had the courage to trust again.
Maybe trust starts with admitting you were wrong.
Maybe courage starts with being willing to fall.
Maybe some wishes don't come true until you're brave enough to help them along.
I stand, pocketing the card and my pride. The night stretches dark before me, but for the first time since Kathryn left, I know exactly where I'm going.
Some risks are worth taking.
Even if you have to climb down from your self-built walls to take them.