Chapter 13 #2
The barista perked up. “We’ve got a Maple Cardamom Latte that people are obsessed with. Also, our cold brew’s on nitro tap.”
Zoe nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll take one of each.”
John raised a brow. “Just jumping in with both feet, huh?”
“For research,” she said brightly, tugging him toward a small table in the corner. “Also, I skipped dinner, and caffeine makes an excellent substitute for protein.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”
“Says the man about to drink nitro cold brew on an empty stomach.”
“Touché.”
They sat, sipping their drinks and whispering like coffee critics in disguise.
Zoe took a thoughtful sip of her latte and wrinkled her nose. “Heavy on the syrup. Barely a hint of espresso. It’s like drinking a melted Yankee Candle.”
John choked on his cold brew. “That’s an image I won’t recover from anytime soon.”
She tilted her cup. “But props for creativity. The cardamom’s interesting. We could experiment with that in our fall specials.”
He tapped his cup. “This is decent. Smooth. But honestly? Yours is better.”
She beamed. “You’re just saying that because I wear disguises for you.”
“That, and your coffee doesn’t taste like a harvest festival exploded in my mouth.”
They laughed, leaning in, the warmth between them stretching wider than the table.
As they stepped back out into the crisp evening air, John stretched, then pointed his cup toward the next block.
“So, fearless leader, what’s next on our caffeine crawl?”
Zoe glanced at him over the brim of her cup, eyes sparkling beneath the brim of her ball cap. “I have one more place in mind. Cozy vibe, great lighting, and rumor has it they serve their pour-over coffee with a side of attitude.”
“Sounds promising.” He opened the car door for her with a mock flourish. “Lead the way, Captain Goodhue. My taste buds are at your command.”
The second coffee shop on their list was tucked between a boutique bookstore and a candle shop, its front window aglow with—no surprise—Edison bulbs and a handwritten chalkboard that read, “Coffee First, Schemes Later.”
Zoe pulled the cap lower over her eyes as they stepped inside, scanning the space. “Okay, this one definitely has a vibe.”
John looked around, amused. “Is that the official term?”
“I believe so.” She nudged him playfully as they approached the counter, taking in the minimalist logo stamped on just about everything—mugs, tumblers, tees, even a line of reusable coffee cup sleeves stacked in a neat little pyramid.
“This place is basically a walking brand campaign,” he murmured, trailing a finger over a matte black travel mug. “Bold colors. Clean font. It sticks.”
Zoe nodded slowly. “We could do something like this. Not the black on black, but something warmer. More us.”
He raised a brow, teasing. “Look at you. Already saying ‘us.’”
Zoe flushed and looked away, but a smile tugged at her lips. “You know what I meant.”
They ordered—a Honey Lavender Latte for her and a plain Americano for him—and settled at a corner two-top half hidden by a potted fig tree. Around them, the soft hum of conversation and the clink of ceramic cups created a kind of cozy privacy.
John wrapped his hands around his cup, steam rising in gentle curls. “You know,” he began, voice low, “I used to think work had to be a grind—pun absolutely intended.”
Zoe looked up, intrigued.
“Back when I graduated, I craved freedom. Travel. No strings. And I got it.” His smile was quiet.
“I’ve seen places I dreamed about as a kid, climbed mountains, drank espresso in tiny European cafés, hiked rainforests, worked from beach bars and airport lounges.
It was everything I wanted…at the time.”
“That sounds incredible,” she said, her voice soft.
“It was,” he admitted. His tone was wistful, grounded. “For that season.”
He met her gaze, and the moment stretched.
“But now?” he continued, his voice steadier. “I want something that lasts longer than a boarding pass.”
Zoe didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The quiet conviction in his words wrapped around her heart like a thread.
“I want roots,” he said. “A home. Get married, maybe. Have a family, if I’m lucky.” His thumb traced the side of his cup. “I used to think of that life as settling. Now I see it as building. Creating a life somewhere—and hopefully with someone—I don’t want to leave.”
Zoe’s fingers curled a little tighter around her mug. “John…”
He reached across the table, his hand warm and steady. Their fingers slipped together easily, like they’d done it a hundred times.
“Lately,” he said, voice hushed, “I’ve discovered that everything feels different when you’re spending time with the right person.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It shimmered, full of things unsaid but deeply felt.
Zoe cleared her throat. “My father always said I’d be great in the coffee business. I never believed him.”
“Now?”
She glanced around the shop, at the strategic layout, the stacked branded mugs, the curated aesthetic, and smiled faintly. “Turns out, maybe he wasn’t so wrong.”
John brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Or maybe you just needed time to see it. The way I figure, all those past detours shape who we are now. And you, Miss Goodhue?” He gave her a slow, admiring smile. “You’re ready to take the coffee world by storm.”
Right then, Zoe’s stomach growled—loudly.
They both burst out laughing.
“Okay, well…” She reached for her drink. “Apparently, my stomach thinks it’s time to stop talking and start eating.”
John stood, still holding her hand until the last possible second. “You pick the place. Diner, dive, gas station with a decent grilled cheese—I’m in.”
She bumped her shoulder into his as they headed for the door. “I’ll aim a little higher than gas station cuisine, thanks.”
Outside, the sky had dimmed to a soft indigo, the kind of evening that smelled like earth and woodsmoke. Zoe tugged off her cap and shook out her hair.
John glanced over, eyes warm. “Got a place in mind?”
Zoe grinned. “Right now, any diner will do.”
When he smiled back, for the first time since moving back to Good Hope, Zoe didn’t feel like she was drifting.
She was heading somewhere that felt right, even if she didn’t know exactly where it would lead.