Chapter 13
"You're surprisingly well-prepared for emergencies." Max helps me drape a heavy wool blanket over the worn leather couch, knuckles grazing mine—unintentional, but each contact still sizzles beneath my skin.
"Angel's Peak lesson number one: winter storms don't care about your plans." I retrieve emergency candles from a cabinet and arrange them on the desk. "I've been caught unprepared exactly once. Never again."
"What happened?"
He settles on the edge of the desk, and the soft glow from a candle flickers over the stubble along his jaw, drawing my eyes to his mouth. I force myself to focus on the battered matchbox in my hands.
"Power outage, middle of February, my first winter here.
I nearly froze in my cottage before Noah Morgan realized I hadn't checked in and came to my rescue.
" A small, involuntary shiver runs through me—part memory, part the way Max is watching me, intent and unblinking.
"After that, I stocked emergency supplies everywhere—home, car, shop. "
"Smart." A rare softness skims across his features—something akin to respect, or maybe acknowledgement. He’s close enough that I can still taste the memory of his mouth, and I wonder if my skin looks as flushed as it feels.
I light the last candle. Shadows flicker wildly along the ceiling, amplifying the hush between us. The space smells of melting wax, woodsmoke, and faintly, of him.
The back office is small but functional—just enough space for a desk, a filing cabinet, and the couch that doubles as my nap spot during busy seasons.
"Dinner options are limited." I rummage through the fridge. "Yogurt, cheese, some fruit. There's granola in that cabinet, and I've got emergency protein bars that taste like sweetened cardboard but will keep us alive."
"I've survived on worse during coding marathons." Max smiles, the expression transforming his face, softening the sharp edges of his usual intensity.
He takes a seat at the desk, legs wide, arms folded.
He looks completely at home, but nothing about his gaze is casual—every sweep of his eyes makes my stupid heart trip over itself.
He tears a protein bar in half, holding out a chunk, his fingers lingering a split second longer than necessary as I take it.
"The glamorous life of a tech CEO."
"Hardly glamorous." He leans against the desk, watching me arrange our makeshift meal. "More like unhealthy obsession masquerading as an impossible work ethic."
"At least you're self-aware."
We settle onto opposite ends of the couch with our improvised dinner spread between us.
Outside, the wind howls around the building’s corners, and snowflakes are occasionally visible through the tiny window near the ceiling.
The candles cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an intimate atmosphere I'm trying desperately to ignore.
"So," Max begins, selecting a slice of apple, "how does someone with your coffee expertise end up in Angel's Peak? Not exactly the specialty coffee capital of the world."
The question is casual but perceptive. I consider how much to reveal.
"I needed a fresh start." The truth lurks between the words, shadowed by regrets I’m not sure I want to unearth tonight. I focus on arranging cheese on a cracker while desperately trying to figure out how to redirect this conversation.
He leans in, the edge of his sleeve brushing the side of my leg. "Sounds like a story there."
"Nothing interesting. I’m much more interested in you. What is it you do that sends you to Angels Peak and keeps you coding all day?"
"I started Nexus Systems six years ago. My roommate, two laptops, entirely too much caffeine.
" He breaks off granola, his thumb skimming along the edge, the casual movement sparking heat low in my belly.
"The bigger we got, the messier everything became.
Some people hunt for blood when they smell success. "
"And competitors." My words are sharper than intended, but Max doesn’t flinch—just holds my gaze, eyes shadowed and knowing.
The silence hangs, taut as a drawn string.
He passes a slice of cheese, his fingers brushing mine deliberately.
That touch, more than any words, makes my pulse leap.
"True." His eyes meet mine across the candlelight. "Though often the most dangerous ones are closer to home."
"That may be, but sometimes the innocent are branded as sharks by those with inscrutable morals." We’re talking generally, but I can’t help but defend myself.
The statement hangs between us, resonating uncomfortably with my experience. He gives me a strange look, and I immediately shift the conversation.
"Why Angel's Peak? Of all places to work on your top-secret project?" I push past the ache in my chest, fixing my gaze on the candle flame.
He takes a sip of water. "Completely random. I needed a place that was isolated, had decent internet, and where no one knew me. Threw a dart at a map of mountain towns within driving distance of Denver, and here we are."
"Destiny by dartboard?"
"Random chance." He smiles again, more relaxed now. "I've got a few more weeks to finish this update before launch. After the security breach last quarter, the board is breathing down my neck. The pressure in San Francisco was... suffocating."
"A few weeks?" The timeframe lands like a stone in my stomach. Against my better judgment, my body sways fractionally toward his. I’m close enough to see where his lips curve around the words.
"That's the deadline. Back to reality after that."
Back to reality. As if this—this town, this shop, this moment—is some fantasy interlude in his real life.
"What's the project?" I ask, redirecting my thoughts.
"An enhanced security protocol for small businesses." His expression animates with genuine passion. "The current system protects data, but the update will create secure pathways between physical point-of-sale systems and cloud storage that even sophisticated hackers can't breach."
Despite my determination to maintain emotional distance from anything tech-related, his enthusiasm is contagious.
"Like for coffee shops?" I find myself asking. "Sounds expensive," I whisper, unable to keep the longing from my tone.
"As I told Hunter Morgan, small businesses are the most vulnerable to data theft because they’re the ones who can least afford enterprise-level security.
" He leans forward, eyes bright. "Imagine knowing your customers' payment information is as secure as any major corporation's, without needing an IT department or expensive infrastructure. "
The air tightens again—now layered with want, yearning, the brushfire spark between us that neither of us quite dares stoke, not yet.
Our knees jostle, legs tangling in the tight shuffle for space. He doesn’t pull away, and I don’t either. The candle shadows stretch, flicker across his jaw, and his eyes linger on my lips. For one long moment, silence blooms: lush, full of all the things that first kiss woke inside us.
"That's... actually useful."
"Try not to sound so surprised." The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Some of us tech bros occasionally create things that help real people."
I laugh, surprising myself. "Fair point."
Our conversation flows more easily as we finish our makeshift dinner.
Max describes his journey from scholarship kid at Stanford to reluctant CEO.
I share sanitized stories about my coffee training, my travels to source beans directly from farmers, and my dream of eventually creating my own roasting facility.
Carefully, we navigate around the dangerous edges—his current project's specifics, my reasons for leaving San Francisco. The candlelight creates a bubble where only selected truths are permitted.
"Your turn." He gathers our empty plates in slow, deliberate movements—never breaking eye contact, never breaking that shimmering tension. "How did Lily Brock become a coffee sorceress in a mountain town?"
His question lands as soft as velvet but as charged as lightning, and demands more honesty than I've offered so far.
I stare into my water glass, debating, but there's really only one path forward.
My heart pounds so loudly I'm certain he must hear it too.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, shivering at the memory of why I ran, and what I lost.
Under the blanket, our thighs almost touch. One subtle shift and we'd be tangled, skin to skin, beneath wool and candlelight's half-shadow. It's easier to focus on a safer subject, such as work, coffee, or an old injury—anything but the wicked curiosity whispering through me.
Max stretches his arms along the back of the couch, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal the hard edge of his stomach. The movement is casual, but nothing about it feels innocent—not when I've just learned what lies beneath his composed exterior.
I can't help but trace the exposed strip of skin with my eyes, remembering his whispered promises against my ear. That he wanted to back me against the counter, lift me onto it...
My throat goes dry at the memory of what followed, how he'd wanted to taste every inch of me.
Even in his gentle posture, there's coiled intent, leashed strength. The same control he spoke of earlier—the power he found essential "in all things worth having."
Is that what I am to him? Something worth having? Something worth controlling? The thought sends a contradictory shiver through me—half apprehension, half thrill.
How did I become a coffee sorceress in a mountain town? Good question. Something I’m not going to answer with anything approaching the truth.
"I needed a fresh start. Wanted something real." My voice is steadier than my nerves.
"That's not the whole story." His voice drops—soft, unmistakably commanding. The arm behind my shoulders tightens, corralling me just a little closer. His thigh angles into mine, a subtle but territorial press.
He waits, silence thick and thrumming.
When I don't answer right away, his hand slides behind my neck—not quite touching skin, but hovering just close enough that I feel his warmth ghosting along my hairline.
"Open up, Lily. I want the truth, not the PR version. Tell me what you've told no one else."
His eyes hold mine, steady and unyielding. There's no room for misdirection in the space carved out by that dark, expectant gaze. My breath hitches; the room feels smaller, Max suddenly so close I could taste the command in his words if I dared.
My throat tightens, not in fear, but from the exhilarating pressure of being seen, of being given space to let down my guard. The part of me that craves honesty—the same part that craves surrender—sits up and listens.
"The story I've told no one?"
"Yes." He shifts slightly, his expression softening, though his intensity remains.
"True intimacy isn't physical. It's the act of confiding our worst fears, of taking that giant leap and being truly seen.
" His fingers finally make contact with my skin, a featherlight touch at my nape that sends goosebumps cascading down my arms. "I want the parts of you that you keep hidden. The truths you guard."
I swallow hard, torn between the desire to open up and the certainty that my past will extinguish whatever is kindling between us. A tech executive like him would run at the first mention of corporate espionage. The words "corporate spy" have a way of ending conversations, ending possibilities.
But his eyes stay locked on mine, patient and expectant, and I find myself wanting to trust him with this buried piece of myself. So I do the one thing I decided I’d never do. I give him the truth.
I start, "I worked for a tech company in San Francisco. We were developing analytics software for specialty coffee preparation." The confession feels like venturing onto thin ice, but I keep my eyes forward and the words clipped, as if detachment could protect me.
Max's expression shifts, recognition flickering in his eyes. "BrewTech. They had that scandal a few years back. Something about intellectual property theft."
That was me—or at least the lies spread about me.
"That's the one." My heart rate accelerates. This is the moment when I should tell him everything. Instead, I chicken out and offer the barest outline. "I worked there, and when everything fell apart, I left the tech world behind."