7. Neesha
NEESHA
The man specifically said he moved here for peace and quiet, away from people monitoring his every move. So why is he voluntarily inserting himself into the daily drama of a bookstore cafe where everyone knows everyone’s business?
Maybe he’s just being polite? Or maybe—and this is where my mind starts creating elaborate scenarios that don’t exist except in my head—he actually likes having one neighbor he can interact with on his own terms.
“Emmy?” I call.
My friend pokes her head out from the storage room.
“Did you fix the light?” I point at the functional pendant above me.
“Nope. Maybe it just started working again?”
“Em, lights don’t magically fix themselves.”
She shrugs. “Maybe Dawson messed with it when he stopped in yesterday.” She nods toward the barista bar. “Hey, did you see that order on the counter? Someone left it in the mail slot this morning.”
I pick up the form from the counter. The locals in Maple Falls still want to use old-fashioned paper forms, despite trying to encourage them to use an app. Two dozen cupcakes from someone who forgot to put their name on the form. “Who orders cupcakes at dawn?”
“Again, I don’t question when things go right,” Emmy says from the storage room before coming out with a box of books. “I just say thank you to whoever made your day even better.”
“Well, I wish that door would get magically fixed too.” I nod toward the storage room door. On at least one occasion, the lock stuck after I went into the room and Emmy had to stop by on her day off to save me.
“Just consider it the charm of an old building, Neesha,” she says, walking to the front of the store. “Wonky locks. Doors that stick. It’s all part of the appeal. By the way, I’m heading to a wedding dress fitting in a few minutes. Will you be okay holding down the bookstore for an hour?”
“As long as the town doesn’t all show up at once.”
The bell on the door chimes, and in walks Clara Johnson for her morning coffee before she heads to her job doing social media for the Ice Breakers.
“Good morning, Clara, how are you?” I turn to the regular coffee maker and prepare her order, since I already know what she likes.
“Feeling a little tired today,” she says, her face slightly paler than normal. She’s got that exhausted look that comes from managing a chronic illness while single-parenting two kids and working full-time. I wish I could help her more, but I’m barely surviving as it is.
“I hear the team is looking good in practices,” Emmy says, lining up the new-release books on the table near the door.
“They’re playing so well together,” Clara says before turning to me. “Have you met any of the new guys yet?”
I shake my head. “You know how I feel about hockey players, after everything that went down with Nate.”
Clara winces. “Right, the Nate Incident. But these guys seem different. Plus, they photograph well in suits, which makes my job infinitely easier.”
“I didn’t attend the bash,” I say. “I was working on a cupcake order for a birthday party that night.”
“Maybe you should stop by the rink, I’d be happy to introduce you and your cupcakes. A few of them have a wicked sweet tooth and would probably be regulars around here,” she offers.
“Thank you for the offer, but I try to avoid my ex whenever possible.”
Clara’s smile is sympathetic. “I get it. Some people are toxic to your health in ways that have nothing to do with actual illness.” She shifts her coffee to her other hand. “But if you ever change your mind, let me know. Some of these guys might actually restore your faith in the male species.”
She heads out the door as Emmy sneaks a side glance at me. “You know, at some point you need to take her up on her invitation and get a life.”
“I have a life,” I say. “With Henry.”
“Henry’s a dog,” Emmy scolds. “He doesn’t count as a social circle. ”
“Well, he’s extremely loyal,” I say, heading to the back storage room to get more napkins for the cafe. “Except when bribed with beef jerky.”
After I find the napkins on a shelf, I nearly trip over a small box on the floor filled with old books. I pick one up and notice the cover looks ancient. Tucked inside the cover is a yellowed envelope with a letter inside.
“What’s this?” I take the envelope out. “Did someone leave this in the donation box?”
Emmy comes over to examine it. “I’ve never seen it before. That looks really old though—look at that handwriting.”
I turn the envelope over in my hands. The front is addressed to “ My Dearest Catherine ” in flowing script, and when I open the flap, I find a letter dated 1849. My eyes scan the first few lines:
My Dearest Catherine,
Though you continue to insist we are not suited for one another, I cannot abandon hope that your heart might yet change. Each day I watch you pick flowers by the maple grove, and I am more certain than ever that you are the woman I am meant to love for all my days…
“This is like finding a piece of history.” I look up at her. “It’s a love letter from 1849. Someone named V writing to Catherine.”
“That’s incredible, but who are V and Catherine? And how did this end up in our donation books?”
“I have no idea, but Mrs. Nelson might know,” I say. “She’s familiar with some of the old family histories.” I fold the letter back into its envelope. “This feels too important to just leave sitting around. What if it’s the only piece of their story that survived?”
“You should pass it along to her,” Emmy says. “The book club ladies are going to lose their minds over this—it’s like their romance novels came to life.”
“Great, now they’re going to expect me to solve a century-old mystery while I can barely solve my own love life.” I tuck the letter into my apron pocket before moving back into the store .
“I’m heading out for my fitting,” Emmy says. “Try not to have any emergencies while I’m gone.”
“Too soon,” I mutter, stacking clean mugs on the shelf. “I almost torched my apartment last week.”
“Please tell me at least one hot fireman showed up to rescue you,” she says, slipping on her denim jacket with a grin.
“Just Lucian.” I focus intently on lining up the mugs, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my cheeks warm at the memory.
“Even better. Half the women at the bash were practically drooling over him.”
“Sure, he’s attractive, but I’m not looking for anything right now.” I straighten the last mug, avoiding her gaze.
“I’m not saying marry the guy. Just go out and have fun for once. A practice date—no pressure, no expectations. Lucian would be perfect for that.”
“A practice date?” I finally look at her. “That sounds like a great way to make things awkward with my neighbor.”
She gives me a pointed look. “At some point, you need to get back out there, Neesha. And when you do, wouldn’t you rather start with someone who’s actually decent? A man who will be gentle and hold your heart softly?”
After Nate, I’d forgotten that decent men were even an option. “Soft and gentle? I don’t think he exists.”
The bell jingles and in walks Mabel McCluskey, Mary-Ellen’s daughter who finally made it to NYC working for Athletic Edge magazine , followed by Fiona Hale, another New Yorker who’s new in town.
“Good morning, ladies,” Emmy says on her way out the door as Fiona stops at the new-release table.
“Hi, Neesha,” Mabel says, coming back to the cafe. “I’ll take my usual coffee.”
I head to the espresso machine and immediately start her latte. “Hey, Mabel, do you know anyone who would order two dozen cupcakes for breakfast? ”
She thinks for a second. “No, but that sounds delicious,” she says. “Why?”
“Someone left an anonymous order early this morning.”
“I wish it were me, because I could use some sugar right about now.”
I hand her a blueberry muffin. “Is your mom bothering you again about settling down with someone?”
“She’s literally trying to marry me off to the entire hockey roster. I think she’s got a spreadsheet.”
“She’s just being motherly.”
“You mean ‘smotherly,’ right?” she mutters and I laugh.
Fiona joins us, looking around the bookstore like she’s in love with this town and its charming quirks.
“What do you think of small-town life so far?” I ask.
“It’s glorious compared to New York. No traffic jams. No long commutes. And people are so nice.” She leans on the counter, looking dreamily at the wall. “Even the hockey players seem different.”
“Yeah?” I glance at Mabel, who knows my history with athletes. “I try to stay far away from hockey players after one turned my life into a dumpster fire.”
Fiona winces. “Yikes. I’m sorry—that sucks.”
Mabel looks at me. “You know what we should do? Have a girls’ night. Just the three of us.”
“I’d love that,” Fiona says.
Mabel turns to me. “You in for Thursday night at my mom’s place? I’ll make your favorite guacamole.”
I sprinkle the cinnamon on her drink before sliding it over. “I don’t know. I’ve been swamped with orders.”
“Oh, come on. You need a break,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.
“You sound like Emmy now. Besides, it’s not like I have time for socializing when I’m baking until two a.m. most nights.”
Mabel’s eyes light up. “Speaking of money, I thought of you this morning when I saw this on the bulletin board at the town hall.” She slides an official-looking paper across the counter toward me.
I pick up the paper and read Maple Falls Emerging Entrepreneur Award—supporting homegrown talent and preserving the heart of Maple Falls for the next generation.
“It’s a new, small-business-grant competition,” she says as I skim through the grant’s requirements. “They’re giving a twenty-thousand-dollar allotment to a start-up business.”
“Twenty thousand?” I choke out. That’s a life-changing amount for someone like me, enough seed money to start my business and rent a space. “Sign me up. What do I have to do?”
Mabel taps the paper with her finger. “Just write a business proposal, fill out a form, and prove you’re involved in the community by going to Maple Fest.”