Chapter 11 #2
Skepticism crosses his features, but he takes the mug, inhaling the aroma first—a habit I've noticed and appreciated. His first sip is tentative, followed immediately by a second, longer one. His eyes widen slightly.
"This is..." He takes another sip, closing his eyes briefly. "What's in it?"
"Trade secret." I lean against the counter. "How's the encryption problem?"
"How did you know it was encryption?"
I pause and cock my head. "You literally just said you were trying to solve an encryption issue."
"Did I?"
"Yes." I don’t mention that I understand exactly what he's working on from the snippets of calls I've overheard.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with renewed interest. "You know, for someone who runs a small-town coffee shop, you have a surprisingly technical vocabulary. Yesterday, you referenced API integration when talking about online ordering systems."
"I read a lot." Heat crawls up my neck.
"Mmm." He doesn't look convinced. "And last week, when my laptop was glitching, you suggested it might be a memory allocation issue rather than a software conflict. Most people wouldn't make that distinction."
I busy myself wiping down the counter, avoiding his gaze. "I picked up some tech knowledge over the years. Hazard of living in the digital age."
"Some knowledge." The skepticism in his voice is clear. "You diagnosed a recursive function error by glancing at my screen. That's not casual tech knowledge. That's computer science expertise."
My chest tightens with familiar anxiety. This is exactly what I've been afraid of—someone connecting the dots between who I am now and who I was before.
"I took some courses in college," I say, finally, the partial truth easier than outright lies. "Before I realized coffee was my true calling."
"Must have been quite the program." He doesn't press further, but his expression tells me he's filed this information away for future reference. "This drink really is remarkable. The cardamom's a brilliant touch."
"I designed it for focus and mental clarity." I allow the subject change, relieved. "The combination of compounds in the spices and chocolate triggers specific cognitive responses."
"You approach flavor like a scientist." His observation hits uncomfortably close to home. "Systematic, precise, with clear intended outcomes." He studies me over the rim of the mug, eyes narrowing slightly. "There's something about you, Lily Brock."
"I get that a lot. Usually followed by requests for free coffee."
His laughter is unexpected, warming the space between us more effectively than any heater. "The way you approach flavor reminds me of coding. Precision, balance, unexpected combinations that somehow work perfectly together."
If he only knew, but if he did, he’d run away from me as fast as he could. My reputation within the tech world is a shambles. The comparison surprises me, along with the fact that it doesn't immediately put me on the defensive.
"I never thought about it that way."
"It's all science in the end." He takes another sip, expression thoughtful. "Whether it's coffee or code. Finding the perfect balance of elements to create something greater than the sum of its parts."
"Spoken like a true tech philosopher."
"Spoken like someone who recognizes craft when he sees it." His gaze holds mine, unexpectedly sincere. "What you do here—it's art. Don't let anyone convince you it's just coffee."
The compliment catches me off guard, settling warm in my chest. Before I can respond, a violent gust of wind rattles the windows, drawing our attention to the worsening storm.
The bell chimes, snow gusting in with a blast of frigid air. Hannah Lewis enters, her auburn hair tucked beneath a knitted cap, arms laden with books.
"Lily! Thank goodness you're still open.
" She hurries to the counter, depositing her library books with a thud.
"I'm making emergency deliveries to the elderly residents before the roads close.
Could I get four chai lattes to go? Mrs. Peterson and her bridge club refused to cancel their weekly game despite the weather. "
"Coming right up." I move to prepare the drinks, noting how Max automatically shifts to make room for Hannah at the counter.
"You must be the tech wizard everyone's talking about," Hannah says, extending a hand to Max. "Hannah Lewis, town librarian and unofficial gossip clearinghouse. Well, almost. I think Eleanor or Ruth might have me outmatched, but can’t blame a girl for trying."
"Max Lawson." He shakes her hand, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "And what's the gossip saying?"
"Oh, the usual small-town speculation." Hannah waves dismissively. "Secret billionaire? Corporate spy? Heartbroken recluse seeking mountain solitude to heal? The theories get wilder by the day."
I nearly drop a chai tea bag at the "corporate spy" mention, but Hannah continues, oblivious to my reaction.
"Personally, I'm betting on the 'burnt-out genius seeking inspiration' theory. We get at least one of those each year, though usually they're novelists, not tech moguls."
"And what makes you think I'm burnt out?" Max asks, seeming genuinely curious.
"The way you stare at the mountains when you think no one's looking." Hannah's assessment is surprisingly insightful. "Like you're trying to absorb some essential truth from them. Classic sign of someone who's lost their north star."
An uncomfortable silence follows her observation. I busy myself with the chai lattes, giving Max space to respond or deflect as he chooses.
"Perhaps you're in the wrong profession, Ms. Lewis," he says finally. "With that kind of perception, you'd make an excellent psychologist."
"Oh, I considered it. But books are far less complicated than people." She accepts the carrier of chai lattes I hand her. "Though sometimes just as revealing." She gives Max a significant look. "Your choice of reading material says a lot about you."
"Does it?" His tone is carefully neutral.
"Mmm. 'The Ethics of Privacy in the Digital Age' isn't casual beach reading." She smiles at his surprised expression. "I'm a librarian. I notice what people read. You've been using our research terminal during our extended hours."
I hadn't known Max was visiting the library.
The revelation that he's been integrating himself into Angel's Peak beyond just Mountain Brew creates a strange feeling in my chest—not quite jealousy, but something adjacent.
A sense that he's building connections in my town, my sanctuary, that exist independent of me.
"Anyway, I should get these delivered before they cool." Hannah nods toward the window, where the snow falls more heavily now. "Lily, don't stay open too late. This storm is moving faster than predicted."
After she leaves, Max returns to his mug, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Interesting woman."
"Hannah sees everything." I begin preparing for closing, aware of how quickly the weather is deteriorating. "And remembers everything. She's been cataloguing Angel's Peak's secrets since she was old enough to read."
"Including yours?" His question is casual, but his eyes are intent.
"I don't have secrets. I make coffee, and you should probably go." The words feel strange in my mouth, reluctant. "It's getting worse by the minute."
Max glances at his watch, then back at the storm. "What about you? When will you head home?"
"After I close up. My cottage is only a few blocks away."
He stares into his coffee for a moment, seemingly debating something. "Mind if I stay a bit longer? That drink is doing something to my brain chemistry, and I think I just figured out the encryption solution." He pulls his laptop from his bag, clutching it against his chest.
"Told you. Cognitive Reboot." I gesture to his usual booth. "Stay as long as you need. I'm officially closed anyway."
While Max works, I complete my closing routine, occasionally stealing glances at him. The tension has eased from his shoulders, replaced by focused intensity as his fingers fly across the keyboard. His presence should feel intrusive in the empty shop, but somehow it doesn't.