Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner (Angel’s Peak #7)

Chapter 1

The grinder hums to life, shattering the pre-dawn silence as I measure beans for the first batch of the day.

Outside, Angel's Peak is still dark, the mountain silhouette barely visible against the navy sky.

Inside Mountain Brew, copper pendant lights cast a warm glow across polished wood counters and gleaming espresso machines—my sanctuary, my promise, my next potential financial disaster.

I inhale deeply, letting the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee center me. Five a.m. has become my favorite time of day, these quiet moments before the world intrudes, when it's just me and the perfect chemistry of coffee.

The grinder stops, and I tap the grounds into the portafilter, tamping with precision. Thirty pounds of pressure, perfectly level. In coffee, as in life, precision matters. One mistake and everything turns bitter.

I should know…

Steam hisses as I stretch milk for the first latte of the day—mine. The microfoam swirls into the espresso, creating a perfect rosetta pattern without even trying. My hands remember even when my mind wanders.

And wander it does. Two years in Angel's Peak, and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For someone to walk through that door and say, "Hey, aren't you that girl from the BrewTech scandal?"

So far, it hasn't happened.

I take my latte to the front window, watching as the first hints of pink touch the mountain peaks.

Angel's Peak is nothing like San Francisco.

No fog. No tech bros talking loudly about disrupting industries they know nothing about.

No ex-boyfriends stealing your life's work and then framing you for corporate espionage.

Just mountains, clean air, and people who don't Google everyone they meet.

A sharp rap on the front door startles me from my reverie.

I check my watch—five forty-five, fifteen minutes before official opening.

Through the glass, Marie from High Country Farms is bundled against the morning chill, breath fogging in the air.

She balances a crate of produce on her hip, waving with her free hand.

I unlock the door, letting in a gust of mountain air along with Marie's cheerful energy.

"Morning, Lily. Thought I'd catch you early." She sets the crate on the nearest table, unwinding a knitted scarf from her neck. "The greenhouse is producing like crazy this week. Brought you some extra mint for those chocolate mochas everyone's been raving about."

"You're a lifesaver," I say, inspecting the vibrant green leaves. "The last batch was gone by Tuesday."

Marie's family has farmed in Angel's Peak for three generations. When I first opened Mountain Brew, she was one of the few locals who immediately offered support, insisting I use her herbs and produce rather than ordering from distributors.

"How's business?" She asks, her expression softening with concern.

I busy myself transferring the mint to a storage container. "Oh, you know. Surviving."

"That bad, huh?"

"Just the usual seasonal dip. It'll pick up once the summer tourists arrive." I force brightness into my voice, not wanting to admit how dire things actually are.

Marie places a weathered hand on mine, stilling my movements. "Lily, half the town knows you got that rent increase notice. Ruth's been on a rampage at The PickAxe about 'corporate vultures swooping in on our small businesses.'"

I suppress a sigh. Of course, everyone knows. In Angel's Peak, privacy is more theoretical than actual.

"Thirty percent is robbery," she continues, indignation coloring her tone. "Have you talked to Lucas Reid about it? He owns half the commercial property in town, maybe he could—"

"I'll figure it out," I interrupt, more sharply than intended. "I always do."

Marie studies me for a moment, then nods. "Well, consider this delivery on the house. Call it my investment in keeping the best coffee shop in Colorado running."

"Marie, I can't—"

"You can and you will." Her tone brooks no argument. "Besides, my kale is growing faster than I can harvest it. You're doing me a favor taking it off my hands."

I know it's not true, but I accept the kindness for what it is. In the city, such gestures would come with expectations. Here, they're simply the mountain way—neighbors helping neighbors through hard times.

"At least let me pay you in caffeine," I offer, already moving to the espresso machine.

Marie smiles, settling onto a stool. "Now that's an offer I won't refuse. Got any of those cinnamon scones from Margie's?"

As I prepare Marie's cappuccino and warm a scone, I mentally adjust my ledger.

The savings from the free produce delivery won't make a dent in the rent increase, but every little bit helps.

I need to increase business by at least forty percent to absorb the new costs, in a town with a permanent population of just over a few thousand.

"You know what you need?" Marie asks, breaking off a piece of scone. "Some fresh tourist blood. New faces with disposable income."

"Tourist season doesn't hit for another month."

"I wasn't talking about the usual hikers and skiers." She leans forward conspiratorially, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Word is, The Haven's got some tech bigwig staying in the Aspen Cabin for a month. Eleanor was telling everyone at bingo night."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she was. Eleanor lives for that kind of thing."

Marie laughs, setting her mug down. "You know how she is—town gossip, town matchmaker, master meddler. Anyone under fifty is 'one of the young ones' to her, and it’s her personal mission to see us all paired off like some Hallmark movie."

"Don’t remind me," I groan, thinking of Eleanor's not-so-subtle attempts to pry into my love life last week at the farmer’s market.

Marie grins. "Well, don't look at me to save you if she tries to corner you again. Speaking of meddling, I've got seedlings waiting. Thanks for the breakfast!"

She checks her watch, stands abruptly, and is gone in a flurry of activity, leaving the scent of earth and greenery in her wake. I tuck the herbs away and continue my opening routine, trying not to dwell on financial worries.

The door chimes six-fifteen on the dot. Right on schedule.

Eleanor Morgan stands in the doorway, silver braids crowned atop her head, wrapped in a hand-knit sweater the color of huckleberries. At eighty-two, she moves with more energy than people half her age, arriving each morning for her "medicine," as she calls it.

"Morning, Eleanor." I'm already preparing her usual—dark roast, a splash of cream, served in the blue pottery mug her grandson, Hunter, made for her.

"You're looking particularly grim this morning, Lily." Eleanor settles onto her regular stool at the counter, sharp eyes missing nothing. "Numbers still not adding up?"

My hands falter momentarily on the coffee carafe. "The transition between seasons is always rough. Once summer tourism picks up..."

"If you'd let me invest—"

"No." The word comes out harder than intended. I soften my tone. "But thank you. I need to do this on my own."

Eleanor accepts her mug with a knowing smile. "Stubborn as a mountain goat. Speaking of new blood, have you heard about our newest visitor?"

"Should I have?" I turn to the display case, arranging fresh pastries from Margie's Bakery.

"Lucas Reid rented out the Aspen Cabin to some tech fellow from California. Handsome, from what I hear. Single, too."

A familiar weight settles in my stomach at the words "tech" and "California" in the same sentence. "I'm sure he'll be very happy with his mountain retreat."

"Hmm." Eleanor sips her coffee, eyes twinkling over the rim. "Don't dismiss him before you meet him. Not everyone from your old world is the enemy."

My old world. As if California and tech were some distant planet I escaped, rather than the life I built and lost. The words sting more than they should, but that’s Eleanor for you—always prodding, always reading between the lines.

"I'm not looking for complications, Eleanor. The shop takes all my time." My voice is firm, but I know nothing I say will stop her from pushing. Subtlety isn’t in Eleanor’s vocabulary.

She gives me a knowing look, the kind that drives me mad because it means she already has a plan forming in that scheming, matchmaking brain of hers. The fact that she’s privy to my past only makes her meddling sharper.

Eleanor is the sole person in this town who knows the truth about me—my connections to California tech, to a world so far removed from this quiet mountain life.

And to her credit, it’s one of the few things she’s managed to keep to herself, which is saying something.

But I also know she can’t resist spinning everything into a tidy story with a happily-ever-after.

"Oh, of course, the shop." She smiles, far too sweetly. "But even hard-working girls need some excitement now and then."

I glare at her, but she just keeps on sipping her coffee, those twinkling eyes of hers filled with the promise of yet another one of her meddlesome schemes.

"You just made my point for me." Eleanor's gnarled fingers tap the counter. "All work makes for thin living, dear."

I bustle around the counter, wiping already clean surfaces. "The only relationship I'm focused on is the one between me and financial solvency."

"Well, at least you haven't lost your sense of humor." Eleanor drains her mug and slides it across the counter for a refill. "Ruth says he's staying a month. Working on some hush-hush project."

"Perfect. Just what Angel's Peak needs—another tech bro using the mountains as his personal think tank before returning to his real life."

"Your aura's darkening by the second, Lily Brock."

I force a smile. "Just thinking about the books. The quarterly taxes are due, and—"

"And you'll figure it out, like you always do." Eleanor rises, leaving a generous tip beneath her mug as always. "Don't forget the mixer at The Haven tonight. You need to get out more."

"I'll try." We both know it's a lie.