Page 2 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
"You know what you need?" Marie asks, breaking off a piece of scone. "Some fresh tourist blood. New faces with disposable income."
"Tourist season doesn't hit for another month."
"I wasn't talking about the usual hikers and skiers." She leans forward conspiratorially, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Word is, The Haven's got some tech bigwig staying in the Aspen Cabin for a month. Eleanor was telling everyone at bingo night."
I roll my eyes. "Of course she was. Eleanor lives for that kind of thing."
Marie laughs, setting her mug down. "You know how she is—town gossip, town matchmaker, master meddler. Anyone under fifty is 'one of the young ones' to her, and it’s her personal mission to see us all paired off like some Hallmark movie."
"Don’t remind me," I groan, thinking of Eleanor's not-so-subtle attempts to pry into my love life last week at the farmer’s market.
Marie grins. "Well, don't look at me to save you if she tries to corner you again. Speaking of meddling, I've got seedlings waiting. Thanks for the breakfast!"
She checks her watch, stands abruptly, and is gone in a flurry of activity, leaving the scent of earth and greenery in her wake. I tuck the herbs away and continue my opening routine, trying not to dwell on financial worries.
The door chimes six-fifteen on the dot. Right on schedule.
Eleanor Morgan stands in the doorway, silver braids crowned atop her head, wrapped in a hand-knit sweater the color of huckleberries. At eighty-two, she moves with more energy than people half her age, arriving each morning for her "medicine," as she calls it.
"Morning, Eleanor." I'm already preparing her usual—dark roast, a splash of cream, served in the blue pottery mug her grandson, Hunter, made for her.
"You're looking particularly grim this morning, Lily." Eleanor settles onto her regular stool at the counter, sharp eyes missing nothing. "Numbers still not adding up?"
My hands falter momentarily on the coffee carafe. "The transition between seasons is always rough. Once summer tourism picks up..."
"If you'd let me invest?—"
"No." The word comes out harder than intended. I soften my tone. "But thank you. I need to do this on my own."
Eleanor accepts her mug with a knowing smile. "Stubborn as a mountain goat. Speaking of new blood, have you heard about our newest visitor?"
"Should I have?" I turn to the display case, arranging fresh pastries from Margie's Bakery.
"Lucas Reid rented out the Aspen Cabin to some tech fellow from California. Handsome, from what I hear. Single, too."
A familiar weight settles in my stomach at the words "tech" and "California" in the same sentence. "I'm sure he'll beveryhappy with his mountain retreat."
"Hmm." Eleanor sips her coffee, eyes twinkling over the rim. "Don't dismiss him before you meet him. Not everyone from your old world is the enemy."
My old world. As if California and tech were some distant planet I escaped, rather than the life I built and lost. The wordssting more than they should, but that’s Eleanor for you—always prodding, always reading between the lines.
"I'm not looking for complications, Eleanor. The shop takes all my time." My voice is firm, but I know nothing I say will stop her from pushing. Subtlety isn’t in Eleanor’s vocabulary.
She gives me a knowing look, the kind that drives me mad because it means she already has a plan forming in that scheming, matchmaking brain of hers. The fact that she’s privy to my past only makes her meddling sharper.
Eleanor is the sole person in this town who knows the truth about me—my connections to California tech, to a world so far removed from this quiet mountain life. And to her credit, it’s one of the few things she’s managed to keep to herself, which is saying something. But I also know she can’t resist spinning everything into a tidy story with a happily-ever-after.
"Oh, of course, the shop." She smiles, far too sweetly. "But even hard-working girls need some excitement now and then."
I glare at her, but she just keeps on sipping her coffee, those twinkling eyes of hers filled with the promise of yet another one of her meddlesome schemes.
"You just made my point for me." Eleanor's gnarled fingers tap the counter. "All work makes for thin living, dear."
I bustle around the counter, wiping already clean surfaces. "The only relationship I'm focused on is the one between me and financial solvency."
"Well, at least you haven't lost your sense of humor." Eleanor drains her mug and slides it across the counter for a refill. "Ruth says he's staying a month. Working on some hush-hush project."
"Perfect. Just what Angel's Peak needs—another tech bro using the mountains as his personal think tank before returning to his real life."
