Page 63 of Hometown Heart

I emerged from the storage room with an armful of blankets—thick flannel ones we normally kept for the outdoor seating on the back deck during crisp fall evenings. They smelled faintly of cedar from months in storage but were clean and would keep us warm if the power decided to give out.

"Whoa, awesome!" Cody bounded over, relieving me of half the stack. "These are perfect for a fort!"

"A fort?"

"Yeah! Every proper snow day needs a blanket fort. It's like, the rules." He surveyed the café critically, already plotting. "Those chairs would work for support, and we could use the tables to build a roof structure."

Jack appeared from behind the pastry case where he'd been assessing our food situation. "Should I be concerned that you've thought so much about optimal fort-building strategies before?"

Cody rolled his eyes. "Dad, I'm ten. Fort architecture is basically one of my jobs."

I laughed. "Well, architect away. Just don't dismantle anything we can't put back together."

Without another word, Cody flung himself into fort construction, dragging chairs into position with surprising precision. Jack watched him for a moment before turning to me.

"Sorry about the impromptu redecorating."

"Don't be. It's nice seeing the place used for something other than people hunched over laptops or gossiping about their neighbors."

Outside, snow continued to fall in thick curtains, but the atmosphere was warm and cozy inside Tidal Grounds. The scents of the day's baking—cardamom and cinnamon—lingered in the air.

Jack rolled up his sleeves and moved to help Cody, who was struggling to drape a blanket across two chairs. "Here, bud. Let me help with that."

I watched them work together; Jack's hands were steady and sure as he adjusted blanket corners and secured them with binder clips I'd found in a drawer. The natural ease between them—how they moved around each other with practiced familiarity, anticipating movements and needs—made me yearn to see more.

"Dad! We need more weight on this corner. It keeps slipping," Cody called.

Jack looked around, then grabbed a couple of mugs from the counter. "These work?"

"Perfect!"

While they continued refining their architectural masterpiece, I moved behind the counter, gathering ingredients for hot chocolate. It was the real thing—cocoa powder, heavy cream, a splash of vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt to heighten theflavor. I worked methodically, finding comfort in the familiar motions of measuring and whisking.

"Can I add marshmallows?" Cody appeared at the counter, his face flushed with excitement.

"What kind of hot chocolate doesn't have marshmallows?" I reached beneath the counter for the jar of homemade hockey stick-shaped marshmallows.

The fort now dominated the center of the café—a surprisingly elaborate structure constructed from blankets, chairs, and string lights that Cody had discovered in the storage closet. The lights cast a gentle golden glow through the fabric, creating a warm bubble in the middle of the storm.

I prepared a second mug of hot chocolate and offered it to Jack. He hadn't asked for one, but something told me he wouldn't refuse. I added a single hockey stick marshmallow—partly whimsy, partly because I knew it would make him smile.

He accepted the mug, his fingers brushing mine in the transfer. "You added a marshmallow."

"Thought you might want one."

"How'd you know?"

"A hunch."

Jack sipped, closing his eyes briefly as he savored the rich chocolate. When he opened them again, his gaze held mine. "This is incredible. Makes me question every cup of cocoa I've ever made for Cody."

"I have an advantage. Years of professional practice."

"And attention to detail. You notice things, and you anticipate. You know what people might want before they ask for it."

I turned away while my cheeks started to flush. "It's an occupational hazard. When you serve people coffee daily, you learn their patterns."

Jack watched me move, his eyes tracking my hands as they folded and refolded a dishcloth. "Is that all it is? Patterns?"

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