Page 21 of Beanful Wishes

I laugh, already pulling out my phone. "On it. This place looks amazing, Elena."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jake arranging books on a makeshift shelf. I watch him work, muscles rippling through his taut shirt. I imagine those arms wrapping around me.

“How about a picture of the children’s book section?” Elena asks, pulling me out of my daydream.

“Absolutely! Great idea.” I give her my best smile and focus my attention on the job at hand. “Let’s get you in the shot, too.”

For the next hour, I weave through the crowd, snapping more pictures and interviewing volunteers. I post a series of stories, showcasing the event setup and the enthusiasm of the participants. The response is immediate and overwhelming, with more and more people promising to stop by.

Throughout it all, I'm acutely aware of Jake's presence. He's everywhere at once, helping to arrange books, chatting with volunteers, and coordinating with Elena. Every so often, our eyes meet across the room, and my heart does a little flip.

As the event kicks into full swing, it's clear we have a resounding success on our hands. The bookstore is packed to the brim, with a line stretching out the door. Books and donations pour in faster than the volunteers can process them.

And Jake is at the heart of it all. He moves through the crowd with ease and a smile on his face as he engages with attendees,answers questions, and directs the flow of traffic. I find myself watching him talk to anyone from elderly ladies looking to stock up on cozy mysteries to young mothers donating well-loved picture books.

When he kneels down to accept a book from a shy little girl, it hits me. I’m falling fast and hard for Jake Harrison. He’s the kind of guy I’ve been waiting for. Kind, full of passion, and dedicated to making a difference. Jake is my very own, custom-made prince charming.

I lift my camera, capturing the moment. Jake looks up, catching my eye, and flashes me a warm smile that makes my heart skip a beat. I smile back, feeling a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the crowded room or the success of our project.

“I can’t believe we’ve gotten this kind of turnout,” Mr. Thompson says, his head swiveling back and forth. “Between the books, funds, and donations, we’re actually going to make this happen. My students will get their Reading Oasis in record time.”

“They certainly will.” Elena walks over, a big smile on her face. “I can’t wait to see it.”

The two of them walk off, Mr. Thompson describing his ideas for the classroom with as much enthusiasm as he did the other day when Jake and I met with him.

Turning around, I see Jake standing in the corner, his eyes on me. I stroll over to join him, thinking about how he is quickly becoming my oasis. He’s where I want to return to after a long day of chasing stories. And he is the one I want to speak with more than anyone else at this moment. About the Wishing Wall, our community, and the possibility of a future together.

Coffee Loft is quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the bookstore event earlier. The chairs are up on the tables, and the only light comes from the soft glow of the pendant lamps above the counter where Jake is working his magic.

"One spiced hot chocolate, coming right up," he says, his voice low and warm in the stillness of the empty shop.

I lean against the counter, watching him work. There's something intimate about being here after hours, just the two of us.

"Two would be better,” I say. “I don’t mind sharing, but I think we each deserve our own after everything we accomplished today.”

“You’ve got it.” Jake grins, handing me a steaming mug. "It turned out even better than I expected. Not that I doubted your marketing and PR skills. Mr. Thompson is going to have one impressive Reading Oasis."

We settle into a comfortable silence, sipping our hot chocolates. The cinnamon and clove mingle with the sweet chocolate and steamed milk, warming me from the inside out.

"So, what's next?" I ask, breaking the quiet. "For the Reading Oasis, I mean."

Jake sets down his mug, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Or maybe it’s a play of the light in the store that’s closed to anyone but us. "We start by sorting through all the donations and figure out what additional supplies we might need. Then there's the actual setup in the classroom..."

As he talks, detailing plans and ideas, I find myself drawn in not just by his words, but by his enthusiasm. Without thinking, I reach out and take his hand.

He pauses mid-sentence, looking down at our intertwined fingers. For a moment, I worry I've overstepped, but then he squeezes my hand gently, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The air between us feels charged, full of unspoken possibilities. I listen as he talks about paint and bookshelves, seeing the place come alive for Mr. Thompson’s students in my mind’s eye.

“I should get this cleaned up,” Jake says. He picks up our empty mugs and walks behind the counter.

I miss his touch, the connection we had. Getting up, I walk around the coffee shop while he washes the mugs. The milk steamer hisses when I stop in front of the Wishing Wall. My eyes skim over the colorful array of cards pinned to the board, each one a hope, a dream waiting to be fulfilled.

I feel Jake's presence before I see him, a warmth at my back. His hand rests on my shoulder, and I turn to face him.

We're so close now, I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his blue eyes. I lose myself in them and time freezes.

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