Chapter 1 #2
Eleanor pauses at the door. "Oh, and Lily? Open that heart of yours a crack. The mountain air is good for healing old wounds."
The bell chimes her exit, and I'm alone again with the quietly hissing machines and my thoughts.
As morning progresses, the shop fills with the regular rhythm of locals. Mayor Reynolds arrives precisely at seven-thirty.
"Morning, Lily." He greets me with the practiced warmth of a career politician. "Double Americano, please. Council meeting at eight."
"Trouble in paradise?" I ask, pulling his espresso shots.
He sighs, rubbing his temple. "Lucas Reid is pushing for expanded parking near The Haven. The environmental committee is pushing back. And somewhere in the middle, I have to find a compromise that won't alienate half the town."
"Sounds like politics as usual." I slide his drink across the counter.
"The price of progress." He takes a grateful sip. "Speaking of which, how's business?"
My smile stiffens. "Holding steady."
Mayor Reynolds's expression grows serious. "I heard about the rent increase. If there's anything the town council can do—"
"I appreciate the concern," I cut him off politely, "but I've got it under control."
He studies me for a moment, then nods. "Well, if you change your mind, my door's always open. Angel's Peak needs its best coffee shop."
After he leaves, I allow myself a moment of doubt. Perhaps I should accept help. Perhaps Eleanor's investment offer or the mayor's assistance could solve everything. But accepting help means owing something—becoming vulnerable again, dependent on others' goodwill.
I've been down that road before. Never again.
The morning brings a steady trickle of customers. The Johnsons share a cranberry muffin and hold hands across the table. Paul Ramsey from The Haven's maintenance team grabs coffee for the entire staff. Sheriff Donovan stops by to discuss the upcoming summer festival security.
At nine forty-five, the bell chimes again, and Hannah Lewis enters, her auburn hair piled messily atop her head, arms laden with books.
"Oh, thank god, you're still here," she says dramatically, dropping her library tote onto the counter with a heavy thud. "I need caffeine like I need oxygen right now."
I smile, already preparing her usual chai latte with an extra shot of espresso—what she calls her "librarian's little helper."
"Rough morning at the book repository?" I ask, steaming the spiced milk.
"Liam has a cold, so I was up half the night. Then Mrs. Winters came in first thing wanting to argue about the 'inappropriate content' in the young adult section." Hannah rolls her eyes. "Apparently, teenagers shouldn't know that kissing exists."
I slide her drink across the counter. "The usual censorship crusade?"
"Every spring like clockwork." She inhales the steam appreciatively. "You are a miracle worker, Lily Brock."
Hannah settles at the corner table by the window—her usual spot—and begins arranging books around her drink. I bring over a blueberry scone, knowing she'll have forgotten to eat breakfast.
"On the house," I say, placing it beside her.
She looks up with a grateful smile. "You're an angel. Oh! Speaking of angels, did you hear about our mysterious visitor?"
I suppress a sigh. "The tech guy from California? You're the third person to mention him this morning."
"Small towns," Hannah shrugs, offering a knowing smile. "Though I have to say, the speculation is reaching fever pitch. Eleanor is convinced he's some eligible bachelor sent by the universe specifically for you."
"Me?" I arch a brow. "What about you? Eleanor needs a hobby that isn’t matchmaking."
Hannah laughs, shaking her head. "Oh, Eleanor tried with me. You know how she is. But I got her off my back when I told her I was still grieving."
I glance at her, surprised. "And that worked?"
Her smile turns a little wry. "It’s Eleanor.
She means well, but even she knows better than to push too hard on that one.
I figure I’ll ride the ‘grieving widow’ excuse for as long as I can—it’s a good way to buy time.
Besides…" She leans forward, her eyes twinkling.
"It keeps her energy focused on someone else. Like you."
"Oh, great. So I’m just a convenient distraction?"
"Pretty much," Hannah teases. "But seriously, do you know who this guy is? I looked him up last night, and Lily…" She pauses, lowering her voice dramatically. "He’s kind of a big deal in the tech world. The encryption software that half the banking industry uses? That’s his. He’s not just some guy with a laptop and a start-up—he’s the guy. "
I blink, just barely managing to keep my expression neutral. The name rings a faint bell, though it’s distant, buried in all the memories I try not to revisit.
"So… what, he’s got a fancy résumé and a lot of money. What’s he doing here in the middle of nowhere?"
Hannah smirks, sitting back in her chair. "Hiding, obviously. People like that don’t just come to places like this unless they’re running from something."
I know that better than anyone.
The words are casual, but they feel like a jab. I know she didn’t mean them unkindly, but my gut tightens anyway. My grip on the handle of my coffee cup tightens, too, and I force myself to loosen it before I speak.
"Well, whatever he’s running from isn’t my problem. I’m not interested."
My stomach tightens. Of course. Max Lawson is a big deal. Another tech wunderkind with a golden touch is exactly what I don’t need.
"Fascinating," I manage, keeping my voice neutral. "I'm sure he'll enjoy his mountain solitude before returning to his very important life."
Hannah gives me a knowing look. "Your tech allergy is showing again."
"I don't have a tech allergy."
"Lily, you still use a flip phone and refuse to get a smartphone. Not to mention, you still don’t have a website up and running."
"I prefer analog." I busy myself wiping down the already spotless counter. "Anyway, what's with the book avalanche today?"
Sensing my desire to change the subject, Hannah gestures to the stack. "Summer reading program planning. I'm trying to develop something that will get kids excited about books instead of screens."
For the next twenty minutes, we discuss ideas for the library's summer programs. Hannah's passion for literacy is infectious, and I find myself relaxing into the conversation. This is what I love about Angel's Peak—people who genuinely care about the community and its connections.
When Hannah eventually packs up to head to the library, she pauses at the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. She hesitates, giving me a pointed look. "You know, not all tech people are evil corporate monsters."
"I never said they were," I reply dryly, though I know better.
They most definitely are.
Her expression softens, and her tone shifts, gentler now, almost pleading. "You didn’t have to. Maybe… maybe give this Max person a chance if you run into him? He might surprise you."
I narrow my eyes at her, suppressing a smirk. "Your Eleanor is showing."
Hannah freezes, then groans, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Oh, lord, you’re right. Sorry! Just—I don’t know, blame the small-town air. It’s contagious."
“It’s definitely something,” I deadpan.
She grins sheepishly, the tips of her ears going a little pink. "Alright, I’ll stop. But still… just think about it, okay?"
I roll my eyes. "I’ll think about it the way you think about all of Eleanor’s suggestions."
Hannah grins as she pushes the door open. "Touché. See you later, Lily."
With that, she’s gone, leaving me alone in the shop with the faint sound of the bell above the door still echoing. I shake my head. Eleanor’s influence really is everywhere.
After she leaves, I clear her table, finding the generous tip she always leaves despite my protests. Tucked under the saucer is a note: "PS: He's really hot. I checked his photo online. Just saying."
I crumple the note with a laugh that feels more genuine than I expected. Leave it to Hannah to try brightening my day with inappropriate reconnaissance.
Three hours pass in the comforting rhythm of morning service.
The town slowly wakes. Doctor Mc’Dreamy, Cole Blake, swaggers in, picking up caffeine infusions for him and his new wife, a trauma doctor from Denver.
The usual rotation of locals, who form the backbone of my business, filter in and wander out just like clockwork.
Not enough of them, though. The ledger doesn't lie. Without the summer surge, Mountain Brew is barely staying afloat. Two years of careful rebuilding could vanish in one bad season.
The morning rush—such as it is—tapers off by ten, leaving me time to prepare for my afternoon specialty showcase. My signature cinnamon lattes, made with house-made syrup, have developed into something of a cult following. Not enough to save the business, but enough to give me hope.
Before starting the afternoon preparations, I pull out the letter that arrived yesterday, smoothing the creases where I crushed it in my initial anger. The landlord's message is clear: rent increasing by thirty percent, effective next month.
Take it or leave it.
I reach for my ledger, flipping through the carefully maintained pages. The numbers haven't changed since yesterday. Or the day before. The conclusion remains the same. I can't afford this increase, given the current revenue the shop generates.
Shoving the letter back under the counter, I focus on what I can control.
Creativity. Quality. Experience.
The things that set Mountain Brew apart.
I arrange the specialty drinks on a silver tray—four perfect mini lattes in glass cups, each with different latte art and flavor variations.
The display case has become a small tradition, drawing in curious customers and often leading to multiple sales—a tiny bit of theater in my otherwise practical shop.
The bell chimes just as I lift the tray. Probably Darlene from The PickAxe, who often stops by before her shift.
My head is down, concentrating on keeping the tray balanced. The first warning is the scent—expensive cologne with notes of bergamot and something woodsy. Not a local.
Then it happens.
A solid wall of human collides with me. The tray tilts… and physics takes over.