Page 17 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
The moment stretches, taut and electric, until I force myself to turn away, retreating to the safety of beans, grinders, and measured pours.
The afternoon slips into a lull, the shop empty except for Max and his growing collection of empty mugs. I take the opportunity to prep for tomorrow’s rush—measuring beans into tins, portioning syrups, wiping down counters.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Max says, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s the story behind the name? Mountain Brew is simple, but it fits perfectly.”
I glance up, surprised by his interest. “Nothing elaborate. The mountain gives me peace. The brew gives me purpose. It seemed natural to combine them.”
“Elegant in its simplicity.” He leans back, stretching slightly, sweater pulling across his chest. “Most business names try too hard. Nexus Systems included.”
“Let me guess—you wanted something that conveyed connection and technological power?”
He laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm. “Guilty as charged. My marketing team insisted Max’s Security Stuff lacked gravitas.”
The admission is disarming, cracking his polished CEO veneer just enough to let something more human—and more dangerous—slip through.
I set a new cup on his table—a vanilla-cardamom flat white with an intricate fern traced in the foam. As I pull my hand back, his fingers brush mine, warm and sure. The contact lingers, deliberate. His gaze drops briefly to the silver ring on my index finger, its weathered band etched with faint, intricate markings.
“Interesting piece,” he says, thumb grazing the side before I can retreat. “It means something to you.”
I swallow. “It’s… old. Family thing.”
His eyes lift, studying me like he’s adding this to some private file. Then, as if sensing I need the heat to cool just a fraction, he leans back, voice easy. “So. What’s next in your coffee alchemy?”
The bell chimes, and Darlene bursts in, cheeks flushed from the chill air.
“There you are.” She beelines for the counter, her PickAxe apron knotted at her waist. “Ruth said you were entertaining Angel’s Peak’s most eligible new bachelor.”
I close my eyes briefly, summoning patience.
“Ruth says he’s gorgeous.” Her stage whisper is pitched perfectly to carry to the corner booth. “Those shoulders—and don’t get me started on the blue eyes.”
Max’s fingers move over the keyboard with the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
“Can I get you something, or are you just here to torment me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Both.” Darlene grins, shamelessly. “Double espresso to go. Oh—and Ruth wants to know if Max is coming to the mixer at The PickAxe on Friday.”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s sitting right there.”
“Because I’m being subtle.”
I snort. “You wouldn’t know subtle if it hit you with a truck.”
“Fine.” She pivots toward him, leaning on the counter like she’s about to auction him off. “Hey, handsome. You’re coming to The PickAxe Friday night. We’ve got live music, decent whiskey, and the best-looking women in three counties.”
Max looks up, brows lifted, expression caught between amusement and alarm. “I, uh, hadn’t planned on it.”
“Well, plan on it now.” Darlene winks like she’s just sealed a deal. “Lily will be there too, won’t you, Lily?”
“I most certainly will not,” I say firmly, sliding her espresso across the counter.
“Spoilsport.” She downs half in a gulp. “Fine, but you’re missing out. Doc Blake is playing, and you know he does that thing with the guitar that makes all the ladies swoon.”
“I’ll survive the disappointment.”
After paying, she leans in, this time dropping her voice to something just shy of conspiratorial. “Seriously, though. You should come. Get out of this shop and have some fun for once.”
“I have plenty of fun,” I protest, weak even to my own ears.
