Chapter 6
“Lily Brock, light of my morning.” Ruth’s voice fills the shop with its customary vigor. “Darlene’s running late, and I need a caffeine infusion before I tackle inventory alone.”
"Coming right up. The usual?"
"You know it. Double shot, minimal nonsense." Her sharp eyes scan the shop, landing immediately on Max. "Well, well. The famous new arrival has found our coffee sanctuary."
Max looks up, wariness crossing his features. "Good morning."
“Ruth Fletcher. I own The PickAxe." Ruth approaches his table with the confidence of someone who has owned Angel’s Peak’s only bar since Prohibition. "You must be Max Lawson.”
He stands, offering his hand. “Word travels fast in small towns.”
“Faster than your internet connection, I’d wager.” Ruth shakes his hand firmly. “Lucas mentioned you’d taken the Aspen Cabin. How are you finding our little mountain haven?”
“It’s… peaceful.” His eyes flick to me, lingering just long enough to warm my skin. “With unexpected quality in unexpected places.”
Ruth’s gaze bounces between us, missing nothing. “I see you’ve met our Lily. Best coffee artist this side of the Rockies. You should see what she can do with microfoam.”
I nearly drop the portafilter. “Your espresso is coming right up, Ruth.”
“No rush, darling.” Ruth settles herself at Max’s table without invitation. “So, Mr. Lawson, what brings a tech genius to our humble mountain town? Besides the obvious escape from Silicon Valley vultures?”
His posture stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Work. And the vultures, as you say, are everywhere—not just in California.” His gaze slides back to me, slow and deliberate. “Though… some things here are worth the distraction.”
The portafilter feels suddenly heavier in my hand. Heat crawls up my neck, pooling low, my pulse tapping out a quick, traitorous rhythm. I duck my head, pretending to fuss with the tamp, but my hands aren’t steady, and Ruth’s sharp eyes don’t miss a thing.
"True, true, but they can't circle as effectively through our mountain passes." Ruth winks. "We protect our own here."
I deliver Ruth's espresso, hoping to rescue Max from her interrogation. Not out of kindness—purely to prevent Ruth from extracting information about my past along with his.
“Lily, have you formally met Max? He’s the founder of Nexus Systems. That security app that everyone’s talking about?”
The name clicks into place, and my stomach drops. Nexus Systems. The rising star of cybersecurity, with a revolutionary approach to personal data protection. I’d gone out of my way not to read about them after leaving the tech world, but even I couldn’t escape hearing the name.
“We’ve met.” My tone is deliberately neutral. “We had a coffee collision yesterday.”
“Literal collision,” Max adds, mouth curving into a half-smile that feels personal. “My laptop was a casualty.”
Ruth’s eyes gleam. “Sparks flew, did they?”
“Only from short-circuiting electronics,” I mutter, avoiding the fact that the air between us is sparking plenty right now.
His gaze holds mine for a beat too long, like he’s imagining a different kind of collision entirely.
“Well, consider this your proper introduction then.” Ruth gestures between us like a matchmaker from a Victorian novel. “Lily Brock, coffee sorceress, meet Max Lawson, tech wizard. You two have more in common than you might think.”
If only she knew how wrong she was. Or how dangerous it would be if she were right.
“Ruth, don’t you have inventory waiting?” I prompt, my voice lighter than I feel.
“Always trying to get rid of me.” Ruth rises, taking her espresso. “Max, you should stop by The PickAxe sometime. First drink’s on the house for newcomers.”
“I might take you up on that,” Max says, but his attention is on me, not Ruth. His eyes skim over my face as though he’s searching for something beneath the surface—and finding more than I’m ready to admit.
Before leaving, Ruth catches my eye, tilting her head subtly toward Max with a questioning look.
I respond with a nearly imperceptible shake of my head.
Ruth's matchmaking tendencies are legendary in Angel's Peak, second only to Eleanor Morgan’s, and the last thing I need is her deciding Max and I are somehow destined for each other.
The bell over the door swings shut behind Ruth, leaving the shop in a hush broken only by the faint hiss of the espresso machine. I busy myself wiping down already-clean equipment.
Max doesn’t go back to his laptop. He leans back in the booth instead, one arm stretched across the bench, eyes fixed on me like I’m far more interesting than whatever meeting or code might be waiting for him.
The weight of that gaze pins me in place. My fingers tighten on the tamper, pressing harder than necessary into the coffee grounds.
“What?” I ask, too quickly.
“Just wondering,” he says, voice low, unhurried, “how many layers I’d have to peel back before I figured you out.”
Heat flares under my skin. I turn toward the espresso machine, pretending it demands my full attention, but my pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.
“I’d hate for you to waste your time,” I say over my shoulder, forcing my tone light. “There’s nothing to figure out. Nothing special here.”
“Hmm.” The sound is thoughtful, not dismissive. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
I glance back despite myself. He’s watching me like a man who’s just spotted a locked door and decided opening it is now his favorite problem to solve.
“So,” Max says after a moment, his gaze still fixed on me. “Coffee sorceress?”
“Local hyperbole.”
“And me, apparently a tech wizard.” He types something on his laptop without looking away for long. “Though wizards generally don’t lose their wands to caffeine damage.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Technology is more fragile than magic.”
“Depends on the technology.” His eyes lift, catching mine, heat flickering there. “And the magic.”
The moment stretches, taut and electric, until I force myself to turn away, retreating to the safety of beans, grinders, and measured pours.
The afternoon slips into a lull, the shop empty except for Max and his growing collection of empty mugs. I take the opportunity to prep for tomorrow’s rush—measuring beans into tins, portioning syrups, wiping down counters.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Max says, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s the story behind the name? Mountain Brew is simple, but it fits perfectly.”
I glance up, surprised by his interest. “Nothing elaborate. The mountain gives me peace. The brew gives me purpose. It seemed natural to combine them.”
“Elegant in its simplicity.” He leans back, stretching slightly, sweater pulling across his chest. “Most business names try too hard. Nexus Systems included.”
“Let me guess—you wanted something that conveyed connection and technological power?”
He laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm. “Guilty as charged. My marketing team insisted Max’s Security Stuff lacked gravitas.”
The admission is disarming, cracking his polished CEO veneer just enough to let something more human—and more dangerous—slip through.
I set a new cup on his table—a vanilla-cardamom flat white with an intricate fern traced in the foam.
As I pull my hand back, his fingers brush mine, warm and sure.
The contact lingers, deliberate. His gaze drops briefly to the silver ring on my index finger, its weathered band etched with faint, intricate markings.
“Interesting piece,” he says, thumb grazing the side before I can retreat. “It means something to you.”
I swallow. “It’s… old. Family thing.”
His eyes lift, studying me like he’s adding this to some private file. Then, as if sensing I need the heat to cool just a fraction, he leans back, voice easy. “So. What’s next in your coffee alchemy?”
The bell chimes, and Darlene bursts in, cheeks flushed from the chill air.
“There you are.” She beelines for the counter, her PickAxe apron knotted at her waist. “Ruth said you were entertaining Angel’s Peak’s most eligible new bachelor.”
I close my eyes briefly, summoning patience.
“Ruth says he’s gorgeous.” Her stage whisper is pitched perfectly to carry to the corner booth. “Those shoulders—and don’t get me started on the blue eyes.”
Max’s fingers move over the keyboard with the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
“Can I get you something, or are you just here to torment me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Both.” Darlene grins, shamelessly. “Double espresso to go. Oh—and Ruth wants to know if Max is coming to the mixer at The PickAxe on Friday.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s sitting right there.”
“Because I’m being subtle.”
I snort. “You wouldn’t know subtle if it hit you with a truck.”
“Fine.” She pivots toward him, leaning on the counter like she’s about to auction him off. “Hey, handsome. You’re coming to The PickAxe Friday night. We’ve got live music, decent whiskey, and the best-looking women in three counties.”
Max looks up, brows lifted, expression caught between amusement and alarm. “I, uh, hadn’t planned on it.”
“Well, plan on it now.” Darlene winks like she’s just sealed a deal. “Lily will be there too, won’t you, Lily?”
“I most certainly will not,” I say firmly, sliding her espresso across the counter.
“Spoilsport.” She downs half in a gulp. “Fine, but you’re missing out. Doc Blake is playing, and you know he does that thing with the guitar that makes all the ladies swoon.”
“I’ll survive the disappointment.”
After paying, she leans in, this time dropping her voice to something just shy of conspiratorial. “Seriously, though. You should come. Get out of this shop and have some fun for once.”
“I have plenty of fun,” I protest, weak even to my own ears.
“Inventory and ledgers don’t count as fun.” Her gaze flicks toward Max, then back to me, eyes glinting. “And neither does pretending you’re not interested in tall, dark, and techy over there.”
“I’m not—”
“Save it.” She pats my hand with mock sympathy. “I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. Pure chemistry. And I don’t mean the coffee kind.”
Across the room, Max’s head tilts slightly, that almost-smile playing at his mouth again. He doesn’t comment, but the subtle flush along his neck says he caught every word.
With a final smirk, Darlene sails out, leaving the shop quiet except for the steady tap of his fingers on the keys and the rush of my pulse in my ears.
For the next hour, we play our parts. He works in his corner with that maddening, unhurried focus, while I scrub counters that don’t need it. Every time I turn, I swear I catch him watching—glances that land heavy enough to make my breath catch before he goes back to his screen.
I finally give up pretending I’m not aware of him and pull a clean mug from the shelf.
The air fills with the warm bite of espresso and the bittersweet drift of chocolate as I work the steam wand, layering flavors until it’s exactly the way I like it.
Not too sweet. A little bite beneath the velvet.
When I slide it onto his table, the rich swirl of mocha still curling in the foam, he glances up.
“Mocha breve,” I tell him, stepping back before I can get caught in those eyes for too long. “Half-and-half instead of milk. Strong enough to keep you awake, smooth enough you won’t regret it.”
His hand wraps around the mug, but his gaze doesn’t follow. It lingers—slow, deliberate—until heat creeps up my neck. “So this is how you win people over?”
“Just being hospitable,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I like the challenge—finding the exact blend that makes someone want to come back.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to keep coming back until you figure mine out.
That is… if you don’t mind me occupying this table all day.
” He leans back, still watching me. “For what it’s worth, I’m getting more done here than I have in weeks.
Something about this place makes it easy to work. ”
“Then consider this an open invitation,” I tell him, my voice warmer than I intend. “That spot’s yours for as long as you’re in Angel’s Peak.”
His mouth curves, slow and deliberate. “Then I’ll be here from the moment the lights go on… until the lights go out.” His gaze lingers, a spark that makes the last part feel heavier.