Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Kathryn
C am doesn't look up when I enter his office, too engrossed in whatever's on his phone screen. His feet are propped on his sleek desk, his designer shoes probably worth more than a week's coffee sales.
"We need to talk." I close the door behind me with more force than necessary.
"About the latest numbers?" He doesn't bother looking up. "Because they're still not where they need to be."
"About your actual plans for this place." I move to stand directly in front of his desk. "Because I'm starting to think we have very different visions."
That gets his attention. He lowers his phone, studying me with that calculating smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "Different visions?"
"The Wishing Wall is working. Community engagement is up. We're building something real here?—"
"We're running a business." He drops his feet to the floor, leaning forward. "All this community focus is charming, but let's be realistic. Elk Ridge isn't exactly a growth market."
"Growth isn't just about numbers."
"Actually," he stands, moving to the window, "it is. And the numbers tell me it's time to cut our losses."
The words hit like ice water. "What?"
"Come on, Kathryn." He turns back, spreading his hands. "Did you really think I'd stick around this backwater town forever? Running a quaint little coffee shop while the real opportunities pass me by?"
"This isn't just a coffee shop." My voice shakes slightly. "These people trust us. They've made this place part of their community?—"
"And they can make somewhere else part of their community just as easily." He shrugs. "That's the beauty of small towns. They adapt."
"You're selling." The realization settles like lead in my stomach. "That's why you let me try all these initiatives. You wanted to boost the sale value."
His smile turns patronizing. "Smart girl. Though I did hope you might be interested in other opportunities. Your talent is wasted on community projects."
"My talent is exactly where it should be." I gesture toward the main room, where Annie's helping Old Joe pin up another wish. "We're making a difference here."
"Difference doesn't pay the bills." He returns to his desk, shuffling through papers. "I've already had interest from several buyers. Major chains looking to expand their mountain presence."
"Chains?" The word tastes bitter. "You'd turn this into another generic coffee stop?"
"I'd turn it into a profitable business." He pulls out a folder labeled "Potential Buyers" and sets it deliberately on his desk. "Which is more than your wish walls and farmer's markets have managed."
"Our numbers are improving?—"
"Not fast enough." He checks his watch, dismissing me. "Face it, Kathryn. Elk Ridge is a stepping stone, nothing more. Smart people know when to step off."
The sunlight catches on the Wishing Wall, turning the cards to stained glass. Through the office window, I can see Marie arranging fresh flowers on the counter, Sara delivering her daily pastries, locals gathering to check their wishes.
"You're wrong." My voice steadies. "About this town, about this place, about everything."
"Am I?" His smile turns sharp. "Then why is your mountain man avoiding you? Even he knows better than to invest in lost causes."
The jab lands, but I refuse to let him see it. "You never intended to make this work, did you? All that talk about community partnerships, about believing in local businesses?—"
"Was excellent PR." He opens his laptop, clearly done with the conversation. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a call with an interested buyer."
I leave his office on legs that barely feel steady, the reality of his betrayal settling like ash in my mouth. The main room seems different now, tainted by the knowledge that all of this—the wishes, the connections, the community we're building—means nothing to him.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Through the front windows, I spot a familiar truck pulling into the parking lot. Nolan steps out, something clutched in his hand, his expression determined.
But I can't face him. Not now. Not with Cam's words still ringing in my ears and the taste of failure bitter on my tongue.
I slip out the back door, leaving Annie to tell him I'm gone.
I fold another sweater—the soft one that's become my favorite. Funny how quickly a place can slip under your skin until leaving feels like tearing something vital.
My suitcase looks exactly like it did when I arrived, but I'm not the same person who pulled into Mountain Laurel Lodge wearing impractical heels and corporate armor. Not after seeing how much a coffee shop could matter to a town. Not after watching wishes bring strangers together. Not after learning how certain blue eyes could see straight through carefully constructed defenses.
A stack of papers slides from my tablet case—notes, plans, dreams for what the Coffee Loft could be. Among them, a wrinkled wish card catches my attention. The crayon writing is wobbly, earnest: I wish for more places to play with my friends after school. Mom works late and the library is boring.
We'd already started planning after-school events. Board game nights. Homework clubs with volunteer tutors. Stories waiting to unfold, now destined to remain wishes.
A knock interrupts my spiral. "Kathryn? May I come in?"
Evie. Of course she'd know something was wrong. She probably has some mountain saying about the way bad news travels on the evening breeze.
"It's open."
She takes in the half-packed suitcase, the scattered papers, my probably red eyes. "Going somewhere?"
"Back to Wilmington." I drop a handful of papers into the trash. "There's nothing left for me to do here."
Evie's shoulders drop slightly, and she touches one of the wish cards on my bed, smoothing its crumpled edge with gentle fingers. The gesture reminds me so much of how she tends her garden—careful, patient, nurturing things until they bloom.
"I failed." The words scrape my throat. "All of it—the community initiatives, the Wishing Wall, everything. Cam's selling the coffee shop."
"Ah." She settles into the room's armchair. "And you're letting him?"
"Letting him? It's his business, Evie. He's already talking to buyers. Major chains looking to expand their mountain presence." I say it in Cam's smug tone, the words still bitter.
"And that's enough to make you run?"
"I'm not running." But my hands shake as I fold another sweater. "I'm being realistic. Cam never intended for any of this to work. He wanted to boost the sale value."
"So proving him right is the answer?"
"What else can I do?" I gesture to my scattered plans. "I can't buy the place myself. I can't stop him from selling to whatever chain makes the highest offer. I can't—" My voice catches. "I can't save it."
"Maybe," Evie says gently, "it's not about saving something alone."
I think of Nolan, of his withdrawal, of the way he looked at me in the lodge kitchen. "I don't have anyone else."
"Don't you?" She picks up the child's wish card. "Seems to me you've built quite a community here. People who believe in what you're creating. People who might be willing to fight alongside you, if you'd let them."
"It's not that simple."
"No," she agrees. "It's probably much harder. But then, most things worth fighting for are."
The sunset paints the mountains in shades of farewell. How many more of these will I see?
"I don't know how," I admit finally. "I don't know how to fight this."
"You didn't know how to make wishes come true either." Evie stands, smoothing her skirt. "But you figured that out."
"That was different."
"Was it?" She moves to the door but pauses. "You know, when Claire—Nolan's mother—got sick, everyone told her to be realistic. To accept what was coming. Know what she did instead?"
I shake my head.
"She planned a garden. Said she might not be here to see it bloom, but that wasn't the point." Evie's eyes are soft with memory. "The point was believing in something beautiful, even when it seemed impossible."
She leaves me with that, with the mountains and a wrinkled wish card covered in crayon dreams.
I pick up another sweater, but instead of folding it, I hold it close. It smells like coffee and mountain air and possibility.
Cam thinks Elk Ridge is just a stepping stone. But maybe some stones are meant to be foundations instead.
Maybe some wishes are worth fighting for, even when you don't know how to make them come true.
Maybe some places—and some people—are worth staying for.
I look at the half-packed suitcase, at my scattered plans, at the child's wish still clutched in my hand.
Claire believed in planting hope, even when everything seemed impossible.
Time to make an impossible wish of my own.