Page 38 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
He settles on the edge of the desk, and the soft glow from a candle flickers over the stubble along his jaw, drawing my eyes to his mouth. I force myself to focus on the battered matchbox in my hands.
"Power outage, middle of February, my first winter here. I nearly froze in my cottage before Noah Morgan realized I hadn't checked in and came to my rescue." A small, involuntary shiver runs through me—part memory, part the way Max is watching me, intent and unblinking. "After that, I stocked emergency supplies everywhere—home, car, shop."
"Smart." A rare softness skims across his features—something akin to respect, or maybe acknowledgement. He’sclose enough that I can still taste the memory of his mouth, and I wonder if my skin looks as flushed as it feels.
I light the last candle. Shadows flicker wildly along the ceiling, amplifying the hush between us. The space smells of melting wax, woodsmoke, and faintly, of him.
The back office is small but functional—just enough space for a desk, a filing cabinet, and the couch that doubles as my nap spot during busy seasons.
"Dinner options are limited." I rummage through the fridge. "Yogurt, cheese, some fruit. There's granola in that cabinet, and I've got emergency protein bars that taste like sweetened cardboard but will keep us alive."
"I've survived on worse during coding marathons." Max smiles, the expression transforming his face, softening the sharp edges of his usual intensity.
He takes a seat at the desk, legs wide, arms folded. He looks completely at home, but nothing about his gaze is casual—every sweep of his eyes makes my stupid heart trip over itself. He tears a protein bar in half, holding out a chunk, his fingers lingering a split second longer than necessary as I take it.
"The glamorous life of a tech CEO."
"Hardly glamorous." He leans against the desk, watching me arrange our makeshift meal. "More like unhealthy obsession masquerading as an impossible work ethic."
"At least you're self-aware."
We settle onto opposite ends of the couch with our improvised dinner spread between us. Outside, the wind howls around the building’s corners, and snowflakes are occasionally visible through the tiny window near the ceiling. The candles cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an intimate atmosphere I'm trying desperately to ignore.
"So," Max begins, selecting a slice of apple, "how does someone with your coffee expertise end up in Angel's Peak? Not exactly the specialty coffee capital of the world."
The question is casual but perceptive. I consider how much to reveal.
"I needed a fresh start." The truth lurks between the words, shadowed by regrets I’m not sure I want to unearth tonight. I focus on arranging cheese on a cracker while desperately trying to figure out how to redirect this conversation.
He leans in, the edge of his sleeve brushing the side of my leg. "Sounds like a story there."
"Nothing interesting. I’m much more interested in you. What is it you do that sends you to Angels Peak and keeps you coding all day?"
"I started Nexus Systems six years ago. My roommate, two laptops, entirely too much caffeine." He breaks off granola, his thumb skimming along the edge, the casual movement sparking heat low in my belly. "The bigger we got, the messier everything became. Some people hunt for blood when they smell success."
"And competitors." My words are sharper than intended, but Max doesn’t flinch—just holds my gaze, eyes shadowed and knowing.
The silence hangs, taut as a drawn string.
He passes a slice of cheese, his fingers brushing mine deliberately.
That touch, more than any words, makes my pulse leap.
"True." His eyes meet mine across the candlelight. "Though often the most dangerous ones are closer to home."
"That may be, but sometimes the innocent are branded as sharks by those with inscrutable morals." We’re talking generally, but I can’t help but defend myself.
The statement hangs between us, resonating uncomfortably with my experience. He gives me a strange look, and I immediately shift the conversation.
"Why Angel's Peak? Of all places to work on your top-secret project?" I push past the ache in my chest, fixing my gaze on the candle flame.
He takes a sip of water. "Completely random. I needed a place that was isolated, had decent internet, and where no one knew me. Threw a dart at a map of mountain towns within driving distance of Denver, and here we are."
"Destiny by dartboard?"
"Random chance." He smiles again, more relaxed now. "I've got a few more weeks to finish this update before launch. After the security breach last quarter, the board is breathing down my neck. The pressure in San Francisco was... suffocating."
"A few weeks?" The timeframe lands like a stone in my stomach. Against my better judgment, my body sways fractionally toward his. I’m close enough to see where his lips curve around the words.
