Something’s Brewing with the Mountain Man (Spring in the Mountains #13)

Chapter 1

Morning Routine

Jake

It’s still dark when I head to work. Dark and cold.

As it should be this time of year, I guess, but for whatever reason, I’m not a fan of the cold today.

I reach over and turn up the heat, letting it blast through the cabin of my Bronco while wishing I was on my motorcycle in a summer wind.

Summer’s a long way away, though. Hell, it’s barely Spring.

It’s April, but the last vestiges of the southern Colorado winter are still apparent as I drive through downtown—muddy patches of snow piled in slushy heaps along the sides of roads, slicks of ice on sidewalks where roofs have dripped melt over-day and refrozen overnight.

The staff parking lot is thankfully clear, but as my headlights catch the latest addition to what was once my personal break area, I tense and shake my head.

After years of having nothing but open grass space beneath a couple of gigantic oak trees behind my coffeehouse, that greenhouse is a real eyesore now.

Change is a constant in life, though, so I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that I’m getting a new neighbor. The unit next door to me has been vacant for nearly a year, so a new business moving in is actually good for all of us. But a greenhouse? Seriously?

Before I even leave the car, I feel myself in a huff about it again, the usual complaints swirling like they did the day the contractors broke ground on the thing last fall. The water requirements must be enormous, and we’re on a well here. Not to mention the potential heating costs.

Really though, I’m just miffed that I never put a patio and table back there under the trees like I’d originally planned. Although, if I’m honest, that’s probably a good thing since technically that section is zoned to the unit next door and its new owner.

H. Sylvestra-Ashford.

“What kind of name is that?” I grouch, snagging my bag and locking my car.

I use the short walk to the back of my coffee shop to cool my head and re-center myself. The weather certainly helps, but honestly, I shouldn’t be so annoyed about what the new owner is choosing to do with their property.

There’s nothing to be gained by wasting my energy on things I can’t control.

I had a chance to put an offer on the space next door last year, and didn’t do it. I couldn’t justify the extra costs at the time, and I missed my window. Not that I actually mind. I like my little coffee shop and roastery as it is. It’s a small operation, but it’s mine.

Taking in my roasting space, I concede that things have a way of working out as they need to.

Business has been slower than usual lately, which would have made paying for the additional space and the necessary renovations a challenge if I’d actually purchased the unit next door. Even orders for the beans I roast have been slower this season, which isn’t great, but it’s been manageable.

Having a new business next door may actually help boost some traffic and sales for me, at least for the first few weeks after it opens.

Pineberry Springs is quaint and laid-back in a lot of ways, but with it being so small, people tend to be nosy, which means there’s sure to be a good turnout whenever whatever is next door finally opens up.

If it ever does.

I shake my head again, silently reprimanding myself. I’m not sure why I’m in this edgy mood today, but it’s not helpful or productive. I need to get it together before my staff comes in for the day.

While doing my opening routine, I process my thoughts and come to the realization that it’s the unknown that’s bugging me.

Construction and renovations next door finished months ago, but I’ve not seen hide nor hair of the new owner yet.

I’ve seen their name on the utilities bill, as we share the costs now, but have no clue who H.

Sylvestra-Ashford is. What character of a man, what they intend to bring to this town.

Something with plants, obviously based on the fact there’s a greenhouse out back now, but that’s not much to go on.

What if it’s a dispensary?

I chuckle to myself at that thought. A dispensary would actually be good for business here. In some ways, anyway.

I think the closest one to us is probably in Pagosa, so we’d be able to serve more of the northern New Mexico set if we had one here. Lord knows some of those guys down in Pine Haven could use a good toke now and then. My friends at the fire station there can be so uptight sometimes…

A knock shakes me from my thoughts, and I’m feeling brighter as I open the front door for Michele, who is carrying a huge covered tray that smells fantastic.

“Michele,” I gently scold, taking the tray from her. “You’re supposed to text me when you arrive so I can help carry this stuff, which smells incredible by the way.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s not heavy, Jake. Honestly, you and every other man in town seem to think a woman can’t carry—”

“Women are strong,” I point out, setting the tray on the counter. “It’s not about strength, it’s about chivalry and helpfulness.”

Michele laughs at that, her brown eyes sparkling with delight. “Chivalry is definitely not dead in this town. But I’m the baker making the delivery. It’s literally my job to carry this stuff.”

“When have I ever let you do that alone here?”

She laughs again. “True. Come on, there’s more in the truck.”

It takes us two trips to bring the fresh pastries in, and I gently rib her for thinking she was going to do it all on her own. But that’s Michele for you, independent and full of fire. She’s got a big heart too, which fits right in around here.

“So,” she says, leaning against the counter while I sign for the delivery. “When’s the new neighbor moving in?”

I shrug. “Beats me.”

“Did you see those solar panels on the greenhouse out back? I thought greenhouses were solar.”

She laughs again as I head around the counter to make her coffee. It’s our morning ritual. She delivers the day’s pastries, and we chat while I make her a flat white before she heads back to her bakery.

“I’ve wondered the same thing,” I admit, priming the steam. “I was also wondering just this morning what kind of business even needs a greenhouse.”

“Any theories?” Michele asks conspiratorially while I stretch and steam the milk. “I tried looking through the front, but the glass is all papered over.”

I confess my thoughts about a dispensary before pouring the milk. Michele’s contagious cackle has me laughing, which makes the tulip design more feathered than intended.

“Oh, that’s just what this town needs,” she says, grinning while I finish my pour. “A cannabis cultivator. There’s definitely an opening for that.”

I shake my head, chuckling. I’m not entirely sure that’s what this town needs.

“What if they’re an edibles chef?” I tease, popping a lid and a sleeve on her to-go cup. “Then you won’t be the only one in town with addictive brownies. You might lose your ‘best brownies’ title.”

Michele just laughs, flipping her dark braid over her shoulder as she reaches for her coffee. “Can you imagine? We’d have to do a brownie-bake-off and let the town council decide who has the best ones.”

She cackles again, probably imagining some of the more elderly members of the council trying edibles, and I can’t help laughing right along with her.

It takes us a few minutes to settle down, but damn, it feels good to laugh like that. Truth is, I’ve been wrangling a low-level anxiety around the unknown next-door neighbor for the past few weeks.

Pineberry Springs is a friendly town, and there’s something unnerving about the fact that the newbie next door has been making changes without ever showing their face.

I’ve wondered more than once if it’s some flipper from one of the big cities with plans to take over our little town one business at a time.

Cynical, I know.

But that’s what the mind does when you let it wander unchecked. Which is why I keep coming back to focusing on what I can control and what I know to be true.

“I need to get these set out,” I tell Michele, motioning to the baked goods she just delivered.

It’s honestly more than I’ll probably sell today with the way business has been lately, but I don’t tell her that.

My livelihood supports hers after all, just as hers supports mine.

Like several other local businesses, her bakery and my coffeehouse are interconnected strands in the web of commerce in this town.

More than that, though, we’re friends. And friends support each other. Always.

“I should get going too,” she shares. “I need to feed Doughlores and the Yeasty Boys today.”

I shake my head, chuckling at her sourdough starter names as I round the sales counter to see her out. “Have fun with that.”

“I will.” She grins. “You have a great day, Jake, and thanks for the coffee.”

“Any time.”

“And good luck with the ganjapreneur next door,” she says, smiling. “Hopefully, we’ll meet them soon.”

“We don’t know that he’s growing weed,” I point out, getting the door for her.

She nods, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Dang, you make excellent coffee, Jake. Best part of my day.”

I smile, a sense of pride and contentment swelling in my chest at her praise. I work hard to make the best coffees I can, and seeing others enjoy my brews fills me up in a way I can’t explain.

“I’m glad you like it,” I tell her honestly, helping her into her truck.

We say our goodbyes, and as I head back inside, I can’t help wondering again about my new neighbor.

A ganjapreneur?

Part of me hopes not, but the rest reminds me that it’s not up to me. My opportunity to purchase that space and expand my roastery has passed. Someone else jumped on the deal, and I guess I’ll meet them when I meet them.

Whenever that may be.