Page 63 of Defensive Desire

The next morning, my café smells like espresso, warm muffins, and low-level panic.

“Okay, the filters are here.”

I point to the labeled drawer beneath the barista station for the fourth time this morning.

“If it starts blinking red, just reset the machine and check the water line. Oh, and Mrs. Henderson likes her flat white with oat milk—not almond. She says almond makes her mouth ‘feel furry.’”

Lucy leans against the counter, sipping a caramel latte with all the bored drama of a teenage girl who’s heard this speech a dozen times.

“Emma,” she deadpans, “it’s a coffee shop, not open-heart surgery.”

"Lucy. Seriously, she will spit it in your face if you mess it up. Mrs. Henderson may look nice, but trust me, she has a wild side."

Grandpa Walt grunts from behind the counter where he’s currently wrestling with a bag of beans. He’s wearing one of my Chapter & Grind aprons over a flannel shirt and khakis, and it’s… a lot.

"You okay, Grandpa?"

The beans almost spill out on the floor, and I lunge forward, catching the bag just as it tips from Grandpa Walt's grasp.

"I've got it," I say, steadying both him and the precious cargo. "Maybe let me handle the heavy lifting?"

"Nonsense." He waves me off with that stubborn Carter pride we both share. "Been lifting heavier things than coffee beans since before you were born."

I place the bag on the counter, my heart squeezing with affection and worry. When he overheard me telling Lucy about the fishing trip with Logan, he immediately volunteered to help run the shop.

I couldn't exactly tell him no, could I?

Not when his eyes lit up at the chance to be useful, to be part of something I built.

"You don't have to do this," I say softly, measuring out beans for the grinder. "I can always ask Melanie to—"

"Your sister wouldn't know a pour-over from a pothole." He huffs, adjusting his apron strings. "Besides, I taught you how to roast. Who better to mind the shop?"

I smile, because he's right.

"Just promise you'll take breaks," I tell him, handing him a muffin. "And call me if anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong," he says with absolute certainty. "You deserve this trip, Emma. It's about time someone took care of you for a change."

His weathered hand covers mine, warm and steady like it's been my whole life. I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Grandpa."

The bell over the door jingles, and I glance up to see Ethan Daniels walk in. He's freshly showered, clean-shaven, and looking—if not entirely at ease—at least solidly like himself again.

“Hey,” he says quietly, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I think I'm… uh… reporting for barista duty?”

Lucy nudges him with her hip. “Yup. Don’t break anything, will you?”

He smirks, eyes flicking to me.

“Thanks for getting me out of rehab for the weekend, Em. I hear Logan’s been in a good mood lately. It’s freaking everyone out.”

I blush immediately, busying myself with straightening the napkin holder. “It’s just a weekend.”

Lucy snorts. “A weekend in the mountains. With a hot hockey player. Who literally looks at you like you’re the last cinnamon roll on the tray.”

I open my mouth to argue, but there’s no point.

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