Page 8 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
For a moment, he doesn’t answer—just watches me with the same analytical intensity as before, a slight, thoughtful tilt to his head. Then, finally, he says, “Nothing. Just… interesting.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?”
But he’s already gone, the bell jangling faintly over the door.
I glare at the rice container on the counter, his voice still trailing after me.Wasted in a small-town coffee shop. What the hell does he know? He’s got no idea who I was, or what I left behind.
But as much as I want to stay mad, I also want to know what other infuriating things he might say tomorrow.
I lean against the counter, exhaling slowly. My hands still tingle where they brushed against him during the collision. My heart beats too quickly, a physical reaction I haven't felt in two years. Not fear—something more primal. Recognition, maybe. Danger sensing danger.
The bell chimes again, and I straighten quickly, composing my features. Darlene bursts in, her PickAxe apron already tied around her waist.
"Was that him?" she asks without preamble, eyes bright with curiosity. "The California tech guy?"
"News travels fast," I mutter, turning to the espresso machine.
"Small town," Darlene says with a shrug. "Plus, I saw him walking out. Quite the specimen." She fans herself dramatically. "Those eyes! Like the alpine lakes in summer."
"If you say so." I concentrate on making her usual double espresso.
"Oh, don't play cool with me, Lily Brock. I saw your face when I walked in." Darlene leans against the counter, studying me with the keen observation that makes her the town's unofficial information hub. "You looked like someone who just touched a live wire."
"I looked like someone who just had four specialty lattes destroyed and glass shattered all over her floor," I correct, sliding her espresso across the counter.
Darlene's gaze drops to the money still sitting untouched. "Generous tipper, at least."
"It's not a tip. It's payment for damages." I finally pick up the bills, tucking them into the register. "And it's too much."
"Keep it. Consider it karmic balance for your rent situation." She sips her espresso, watching me over the rim. "Half the town's talking about it, you know. Ruth's organizing what she calls a 'community economic support initiative.'"
"A what?"
"A fundraiser," Darlene clarifies. "To help cover the increase until you can get on your feet."
Mortification washes over me. "Absolutely not. I don't need charity."
"It's not charity, it's community." Darlene's expression softens. "Angel's Peak needs Mountain Brew, Lily. You've created something special here."
The sincere compliment catches me off guard. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll figure this out on my own."
Darlene studies me for a long moment. "You know, accepting help doesn't make you weak. It makes you part of something."
Before I can respond, she glances at her watch and curses. "Gotta run. Ruth will have my head if I'm late again." She downs the rest of her espresso. "Think about it, though. And maybe think about that California guy too—could be good for business to have a tech mogul as a regular."
After she leaves, I find myself alone with the aftermath of the morning's chaos. The shop smells of coffee and cinnamon, with faint notes of expensive cologne lingering in the air. The rice container sits on the table where Max left it, an unexpected reminder of the collision that felt more significant than it should have.
I never should have moved to this town to start fresh, because clearly the universe wasn't done punishing me yet. And something tells me Max Lawson is just the beginning of my problems.
Chapter 3
The morning rush—ifyou can call eight customers in two hours a rush—keeps me busy enough to almost forget yesterday's disaster.
Almost.
The memory of intense blue eyes and the lingering scent of bergamot cologne proves surprisingly difficult to shake.
I arrive at Mountain Brew at my usual pre-dawn hour, letting myself in through the back entrance. The quiet of the empty shop has always been comforting, a blank canvas waiting for the day’s rhythm to unfold. The air smells faintly of yesterday’s espresso and the sharp, clean bite of roasted beans I prepped last night.
