Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
River offered them a broad smile when Zoe and John walked through the front door of the Daily Grind Sunday morning. “Dad said the cavalry was coming. I didn’t expect both of you.”
“Two for the price of one.” John gave him an easy smile.
“Give us a second to wash up and grab an apron, then you’re free,” Zoe said, rounding the counter. She was nearly to the back when River’s fingers curled gently around her arm.
She turned, brow lifted.
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes—so like their father’s—earnest and a little tired. “I mean it.”
“No problem.” She squeezed his arm before slipping through the swinging door, John at her heels.
She’d gotten the word early about Astrid’s daughter being ill. She’d contacted John and told him church was off. When he said he’d meet her at the Grind and help out, she couldn’t help but smile.
Now John stood at the espresso machine, already handling the wand like a pro, and she was manning the register.
It might be the off-season for tourists, but Good Hope residents wanted their coffee. The café buzzed with customers, each one drawn by the promise of comfort in a cup, especially when that comfort involved cinnamon, maple and a generous dash of pumpkin.
“Why so many people?” John muttered as a group of five filed through the doors.
“Fall flavors,” Zoe replied, not missing a beat as she handed a customer their change. “You’ve made, like, ten Pumpkin Maple Lattes in the last hour. You didn’t notice?”
“I was in the zone,” he said with mock solemnity, carefully building the graham cracker topping on a Campfire Latte.
A silver-haired woman beamed at them from the pickup station. “You two are having way too much fun.”
“It’s what life’s about,” John said, grinning.
For the next two hours, life was all caffeine, sugar and low-key chaos. The kind that made your feet ache but your soul buzz just a little.
Zoe surprised herself by how much she was enjoying it. Not just working, but working with John. Their rhythm had grown so seamless it felt like choreography, each of them always anticipating the other’s next step.
Even as she counted change and passed out pastries, she was making mental notes for the weekend—talk to Ami Cross about getting more coffee cake, maybe swap out the pumpkin scones for the cranberry-orange ones that had been a hit last year.
When a customer ordered yet another Campfire Latte, Zoe glanced up. “We take a team vote on fall flavors each spring. Pumpkin Spice is always a given, but the others rotate in.”
John nodded as he torched the marshmallow topping with practiced care. “And the winner gets the honor of sticking to your hair, your car and your soul for three months straight.”
“Exactly,” Zoe said with a laugh.
The bell above the door jingled, and she looked up to see Pastor Dan Marshall entering with his usual easy grace.
“When I didn’t see you in church, I wondered if you were working today,” he said warmly.
“Astrid’s daughter caught that bug that’s been going around,” Zoe explained.
Dan nodded. “I’ll add her to my prayers.”
“What can I get you?” Zoe asked. “We’ve got exactly one piece of coffee cake left…”
“Tempting,” the pastor said with a chuckle, “but I’ve been given a mission. A dozen assorted doughnuts and a gallon of spiced apple cider. Marching orders from Katie Ruth.”
“You married a wise woman,” Zoe said, already opening a bakery box.
Dan turned to John. “You’re the guy working with Zoe on the expansion project.”
There were no secrets in Good Hope, Zoe thought, hiding a smile.
“John Logan,” he said, offering a friendly nod.
“You’ve got a good crew here.” Dan accepted the coffee John handed over. “Black, just how I like it. Thanks.”
John tilted his head toward Zoe. “You’ve got good taste.”
“I’ll get the cider set up,” Zoe said. “Two growlers, right?”
“Growlers?” John echoed.
“Come with me, grasshopper,” Zoe teased. She led him to a small storage nook where two ceramic containers bore festive stickers reading “Spiced Right by The Daily Grind.”
“I’ll fill them,” John offered, already moving into action.
While he did Zoe filled the bakery box with doughnuts and tucked in that lone piece of coffee cake as a surprise.
As Pastor Dan paid, he looked down at his arms full of sugar and cider. “Looks like I’ll need two trips.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Zoe offered.
John winked. “Make sure she doesn’t sneak a doughnut. Zoe has a weakness for anything with sprinkles.”
Zoe grinned. “And here I thought you didn’t notice the important stuff.”
Pastor Dan chuckled as they stepped outside. “Thank you for the help. This was above and beyond.”
“I’m just happy for the sunshine,” Zoe said, lifting her face toward the clear blue sky.
The pastor gave her a long, thoughtful look. “It’s good to see you smiling again.”
“It took a while,” Zoe admitted.
“I’ve been there,” Dan said, carefully loading the growlers into his car. “I was engaged before I met Katie Ruth. It ended, and I thought I’d never be okay. But God knew what He was doing. I wasn’t with the right person.”
Zoe glanced down at the bakery box in her hands, then back up at the man who had officiated more weddings than she could count.
“You and Katie Ruth are amazing together.”
“She’s my person,” he said simply. “We all deserve someone who loves us with their whole heart. Don’t settle for anything less.”
His words echoed in Zoe’s mind as she watched him drive away, words she hadn’t realized she’d needed until that very moment.
Not because she doubted what was growing between her and John.
But because, for the first time in a long time, she believed she deserved it.
John waited beside her while Zoe locked the front door of the Daily Grind. The final clang of the bolt echoed down the quiet street.
“Closed at five,” Zoe murmured, slipping her keys into her jacket pocket. “Apparently, no one in Good Hope needs caffeine in the evening.”
“Tragic,” John said, mock solemn. “How will the town survive without its espresso-fueled sense of purpose?”
Zoe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and smiled. “My dad says he owes us big for helping out today.”
John grinned. “Owes us, huh? Excellent. I’m thinking lifetime coffee cake privileges. Maybe a plaque with our names on a table.”
“Might as well dream big,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against his.
He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “So…any plans tonight?”
A dozen low-key ideas had flitted through Zoe’s mind—curling up with a book, tackling her laundry mountain—but one had stuck. “Actually, yeah. You up for a field trip?”
He lifted a brow. “A field trip?”
“Sturgeon Bay.”
“I passed through there on my way to Good Hope,” he said. “Seemed quaint. What’s there, besides the world’s slowest speed limits?”
“Coffee shops.”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“Rival coffee shops,” Zoe said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “As part of our highly professional market research, I thought it might be fun to visit a few. See what they’re doing right—and what they’re botching.”
“You want to spend your one free evening stalking the competition?” He gave her a look. “After a full day of steamed milk and cinnamon fog?”
“We won’t be stalking,” she said primly. “We’ll be thoughtfully observing. And the shops in Sturgeon Bay stay open until eight.”
He tilted his head. “So basically an undercover coffee sting.”
“Exactly.”
Zoe looped her arm through his. “And you’ll be with me. That makes any evening fun.”
A laugh ruined his attempt at a long-suffering look. “You know, when you said ‘field trip,’ I pictured bonfires. Maybe a hayride. A meal that didn’t involve doughnuts or foam art.”
“You’re not fooling anyone. You love this idea.”
“I’ll tolerate it,” he muttered. “For science.”
Zoe laughed and nudged him. “I’ll buy you a fancy latte.”
“Sold.” He sighed. “But if there’s glitter in my foam, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair.” She pulled out her keys and tossed them to him. “We’ll take my car. You drive.”
He caught them one-handed. “Any idea how many seconds it takes your car to hit sixty?”
“Four words—Sturgeon Bay speed traps.”
“I got the memo.”
He unlocked the passenger door and held it open with a slight bow. “Buckle up, Miss Goodhue. Tonight, we ride…into the heart of caffeinated darkness. May the Force—and the foam—be with us.”
John parked in front of a small brick building with warm lighting spilling from its oversized front windows. A chalkboard sandwich sign on the sidewalk announced “Live Music Sundays. Cold Brew Flights. Pumpkin Scones While They Last!”
Zoe twisted in her seat, unzipped her bag and pulled out a navy baseball cap.
John blinked. “Please tell me that’s not a disguise.”
“It’s not just a disguise,” she said, tugging the brim low over her brow. “It’s strategic anonymity.”
“Strategic anonymity,” he repeated. “Are you expecting paparazzi or a barista turf war?”
“I’ve been to a few industry events,” Zoe said, adjusting the hat. “There’s a non-zero chance someone might recognize me. Better safe than having to explain why I’m sniffing their espresso machines.”
He gave her an admiring once-over. “You’re adorable when you go full spy mode.”
“And you’re stalling.” She opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the shop smelled like dark roast and cinnamon. Edison bulbs dangled over reclaimed wood tables, and indie folk music floated through the speakers. A trio of students hovered over laptops in the corner, while a couple in matching flannel debated whether to split a vegan muffin.
Zoe surveyed the room like a detective at a crime scene. “Clean lines. Rustic-industrial vibe. Good lighting. Excellent atmosphere.”
John leaned in and whispered, “I think the barista just winked at me.”
“She’s probably wondering if you’re a secret shopper. Stand tall. Look discerning.”
“I’ll try to look appropriately judgy.”
They approached the counter, and Zoe smiled at the girl behind it. “Hi there. What’s your house specialty?”