Page 29 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
He wraps his chilled hands around it, cradling it with visible relief as though the ceramic itself could will the storm away.
“Bad enough to shut the town down?” I ask.
“Highway patrol’s already getting ready to close Route 14. Donovan’s got his deputies out, keeping an eye on key points. It’s going to hit fast and nasty—like a mule kick to the gut. I’d suggest closing up early and getting home while you can. This one’s going to be a doozy.”
I tilt my head to the windows again, watching as the clouds pull closer like curtains dropping over the peaks. “I appreciate the warning.”
He nods and drops an extra dollar in the tip jar before pausing. His smirk, small but deliberate, creeps onto his face. “Where’s your shadow today?”
There’s no need to ask who he means, and I pretend the light flush creeping into my cheeks doesn’t exist. “Outside, on a call.”
I think.
His gaze lingers a second longer than it should, teasing without words. “Well…when he gets back, tell him he ought to head back to The Haven sooner rather than later. Once thosemountain roads ice over, even four-wheel drive will be no good, and with white-out conditions expected, traveling on foot won’t just be inconvenient. It'll be deadly.”
The bell over the door jingles, and I freeze. A gust of cold bites at my ankles as the door opens wide. I spin toward the entrance, already expecting to see him standing there.
But it’s not Max.
A middle-aged couple stumbles into the shop instead. Their outdoor gear is pristine—bright orange and black jackets layered over tech-savvy thermal pants, their boots barely scuffed from wear. They shed snowflakes in a hurry, their expressions harried as they approach me.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman says first, her gloved hands fumbling with the zipper of her jacket. “Do you have somewhere…somewhere we could wait out the storm? We didn’t realize it was supposed to get this bad.”
Her partner follows closely, shaking snow from his hair. “We were hiking down from Sunrise Ridge Trail when it started picking up. By the time we got to the car, the roads were already impossible to navigate.”
"Storm’s catching everyone off guard.” I gesture toward the nearest table. “You can sit as long as you need, but you may want to get back to your lodging sooner rather than later. Let me get you something warm.”
The woman wastes no time, collapsing into a chair with a visible shiver while the man lingers at her side, scanning the café as though trying to orient himself. His eyes linger at the corner booth, Max’s usual spot—in its predictable order: vase, card, everything waiting exactly as it was.
"Where are you staying?" Mayor Reynolds asks.
"Up at the lodge," the man says.
"You’re in luck, I can give you a ride, but Lily’s got a point. We need to leave now. The roads won’t be passable for much longer."
“Thanks,” the woman mumbles. “We really didn’t think?—”
“You’re fine,” Reynolds assures them. "I’m headed up there as it is. More than happy to give you a lift." He turns to me. "Lily, make sure you close up and head home before it gets much worse."
“I’m on it.”
After the mayor leaves with the couple, I prep for an early closure. My steps are quick, my movements more deliberate than usual as I count the till, stack pastry boxes, and double-check the windows against the wind that howls harder with every passing minute.
The storm outside is relentless—snow swirling in thick, chaotic gusts past the streetlights, clawing at the glass. It’s only mid-afternoon, but the heavy, low-hanging clouds make it feel like dusk.
I’m just finishing a final wipe of the counter when the bell chimes. My heart jumps—half from relief, half from the nervous energy that’s been building between glimpses at the clock.
Max steps inside, a cold-stung blur of gray wool and damp edges. His coat and boots are coated in thick layers of fresh snow, flakes clinging stubbornly to his sleeves and collar, while stray droplets melt and streak down his cashmere scarf. His dark hair is damp too, dripping slightly at the ends, a few beads of water slipping down the curve of his cheekbone and jaw.
He stops just inside the door, planting both feet firmly on the mat, and stomps hard to shake off the snow. One gloved hand drags across his jaw, swiping away some of the damp before he glances toward me, his chest rising with a sharp breath like he’s just walked straight through a blizzard.
“Have you seen what’s happening out there?” he asks, voice clipped but tinged with something lighter, something that sounds closer to relief than frustration. He unwinds his scarf, tugging it loose and tossing it into his palm. “The road to The Haven is already nearly impassable.”
“You’re frozen.” I can’t stop staring at him for a moment, taking in the mess of snow and cold against his otherwise sleek, comfortable exterior. "Did you drive down in this?"
"No."
"Then how did you?—"
