Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Kathryn
" T wo hazelnut macchiatos, one maple scone, and..." Annie glances at her notepad. "Three wishes waiting to be pinned up."
"The wall's getting full again." I hand her the lattes, smiling as Old Joe and his new knitting circle claim their usual corner. "We might need to expand."
"Already?" Nolan appears behind me, his hand finding its familiar place at the small of my back. "We just added the second board last week."
"Look around." I gesture to our packed shop, where every table hosts a story. "I'd say we're victims of our own success."
The morning sun streams through windows we polished yesterday, catching on Marie's fresh flowers and the local artwork now adorning our walls. Sara's pastry case—actually full these days—draws a constant stream of admirers. In the corner, Connor helps the high school music teacher set up for today's acoustic performance.
"Speaking of success..." Nolan nods toward the door where Beth from the market arrives with her arms full. "Looks like the community display is about to get more interesting."
I move to help her, but Annie beats me to it. "I've got this," she says with a knowing look. "You two oversee from a safe distance."
"We're not that bad," I protest.
"Yesterday you spent twenty minutes arranging three coffee cups because, and I quote, 'They needed to tell a story.'"
"They did!" But I'm laughing as Nolan pulls me away from the counter.
He guides me to our favorite spot, where we can watch the morning unfold. His arm slides around my shoulders, and I lean into him, savoring the quiet moment amid the cheerful chaos.
"Remember your first day here?" he asks softly.
"You mean when the pastry case was empty and the espresso machine made concerning noises?"
"I mean when you walked in wearing corporate armor and impractical shoes, looking like everything I thought I didn't want."
I elbow him gently. "And now?"
"Now you're everything I didn't know I needed." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Though your shoes are still impractical."
Before I can defend my footwear choices, Marie's voice carries across the shop. "Kathryn, dear! Where should I put these new centerpieces?"
"I'll help," Nolan offers, but I catch his sleeve.
"Stay. Watch with me? Just for a minute?"
He settles back beside me, and together we take in the scene. Old Joe teaches a teenager to knit while sharing stories about Elk Ridge's history. Sara discusses recipe modifications with a young mother. Beth arranges local honey and handmade soaps beside Marie's flowers, creating a snapshot of mountain craftsmanship.
And everywhere, people read wishes. Some laugh, some nod in understanding, some quietly add their own offerings to the wall. Connections form like morning dew—subtle, natural, beautiful.
"You did this," Nolan murmurs.
"We did this." I turn into him slightly. "Though sometimes I still can't believe it's real."
"Which part? The successful coffee shop or the devastatingly handsome business partner?"
"Both." I smile up at him. "All of it. Being here, belonging here..."
"Kathryn?" A quiet voice interrupts. Mrs. Thompson, our retired librarian, stands before us with tears in her eyes. "I wanted to thank you. Both of you. This place, what you've created here... it's given us back something we didn't even realize we'd lost."
My throat tightens. "We just provided the space. The community did the rest."
She shakes her head. "You provided hope. Connection. A reason to come together." She squeezes my hand. "You've given us back our heart."
She moves away before I can respond, leaving me fighting tears of my own.
"Hey." Nolan's thumb brushes my cheek. "You okay?"
"Better than okay." I look around at this place that's become so much more than a coffee shop. "I'm home."
The word feels right on my tongue, true in my heart. This is where I belong—among wishes and coffee cups and mountain mornings. Among people who've become family and a man who looks at me like I'm his favorite dream come true.
"I love you," I say, the words rising naturally as steam from a perfect latte. "You know that, right?"
His smile is brighter than any city skyline I've left behind. "I love you too. Even in those shoes."
"My shoes are fine."
"Your shoes are dangerous." But he's kissing me, tasting of coffee and joy and forever.
Annie's exaggerated sigh breaks the moment. "If you two are done being disgustingly cute, we have actual work to do."
"Right." I straighten my apron. "Back to making wishes come true?"
Nolan's hand finds mine. "Already did."
Some wishes happen in grand gestures.
Others in quiet moments between coffee cups and kisses.
And the best ones? They feel exactly like this—like belonging, like purpose, like love served in a hand-thrown mug with a mountain view.
I'm wiping down the last table when Nolan slips in through the back door, right on time.
"Hot chocolate's almost ready," I call out, hearing him hang his jacket on the hook we installed last week. The one right next to mine, like it belongs there.
"No coffee?" He appears behind me, sliding his arms around my waist. "I thought that was kind of our thing."
"Even coffee experts need a change sometimes." I lean back against him, savoring his warmth. "Besides, I added a secret ingredient."
"Let me guess—hazelnut?"
"Maybe." I turn in his arms. "Though you'll have to test it to be sure."
The hot chocolate steams in two of our favorite mugs—handmade by a local artist, decorated with mountain scenes. We settle into our usual corner, where the Wishing Wall's fairy lights cast a gentle glow.
"To success?" Nolan raises his mug.
"To partnership." I clink my mug against his. "And to you, for believing in this crazy dream even when I doubted."
"You never doubted." He takes a sip, his eyes warming. "Not really. You just needed someone to remind you how capable you are."
"Is that what you were doing? All those arguments about community integration and local suppliers?"
"Obviously." His smile is soft around the edges. "I was definitely not being stubborn or difficult at all."
"Of course not." I curl my feet under me, watching the marshmallows melt in my chocolate. "Thank you, though. For everything. For helping make this place what it is."
"Kathryn." He sets down his mug, taking my free hand. "You're the one who made this happen. You saw what the Coffee Loft could be when everyone else had given up."
"Not everyone." I squeeze his fingers. "You kept the hazelnut macchiato on the menu."
"Best decision I ever made." He brings our joined hands to his lips. "Well, second best."
"What was the first?"
"Letting myself fall in love with a corporate troubleshooter in impractical shoes."
I laugh, but it catches in my throat when I see his expression. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm honest." He takes my mug, setting it beside his. "And I'm ridiculously, honestly, completely in love with you."
The words aren't new, but they still make my heart skip. "Even when I reorganize the wish cards three times in one day?"
"Especially then." He tugs me closer until I'm practically in his lap. "Even when you wake me up at dawn to test new recipes. Even when you spend an hour arranging Marie's flowers 'just so.'"
"They need to tell a story!"
"They do." His arms tighten around me. "Just like everything else you touch."
We sit in comfortable silence, watching shadows dance on the walls. Tomorrow we'll host a local authors' reading. Next week, a series of craft workshops. The calendar on my desk is full of community events, each one a thread weaving this place more tightly into the fabric of Elk Ridge.
"I've been thinking," I say finally.
"Dangerous."
I poke his ribs. "About the spring festival. What if we expanded it? Set up in the town square, get all the local businesses involved. Make it a real celebration of everything that makes this place special."
"Already planning months ahead?"
"Well, I'm not going anywhere." The certainty in my voice makes him pull back to look at me. "What? Did you think I might?"
Instead of answering, he kisses me. It's soft and sweet and tastes like chocolate and promises. When we part, his forehead rests against mine.
"I love you," he murmurs. "Even when you steal my flannel shirts."
"Especially when I steal your flannel shirts?"
"Especially then."
We clean up together, moving in the practiced dance we've perfected over these past months. His hand brushes my back as he passes. I lean into him while he locks up. Small touches, casual intimacies that feel as natural as breathing.
At the door, he pulls me into one last embrace. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
"Stay?" he whispers into my hair.
"Always," I promise, and I mean more than just tonight.