Page 4 of Beanful Wishes

“I love what you’re doing with that Wishing Wall of yours,” Matthew says while I collect a tray of dirty coffee cups.

“Thanks for letting me put it up.” The idea for the community board had popped into my head on my first day here, after listening to a young mom wishing for another adult to talk with. I managed to mix up her drink order with that of another woman who looked to be about her age and the two of them hit it off, meeting here at least twice a week to have coffee and catch up.

“If you ask me, it’s the big reason business has picked up the way it has,” Matthew says, looking pleased. “That and your latte art skills.”

I scoff. If there’s one thing I’m not good at, it’s drawing hearts and swirls with foamed milk and the dark liquid beneath.

“I’m serious. I got an email from a TV producer asking if we’d mind if a camera crew stopped by sometime this week. I guess some reporter stopped in and took an interest.” He leans against the counter, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I told them to stop by anytime.”

“Of course you did,” I mutter under my breath, turning to hide my annoyance. With my luck, they’ll show up during the morning rush.

“What was that?” Matthew asks.

“Happy to help any way I can,” I say when I turn back. “Though I’m not sure what there is to report about any of this.” I wave my hands around the shop. It’s cozy and Matthew isright. Business has picked up. “We could tell them about the new lineup of fall drinks, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t going to be some pumpkin spice story. They want to interview you about your Wishing Wall.”

I groan. For the first time since nailing up the large corkboard, I’m regretting my idea of bringing the caffeine-loving community of this side of Wilmington together.

“Chin up, you’ll do great.” Matthew pats me on the shoulder, pours himself the last of the regular coffee, and disappears into his office.

As the morning progresses, I find myself wondering who this TV reporter could be. When I catch a glimpse of someone with dark locks and olive skin, I think back on the beauty who brightened my day yesterday. I don’t know her name, but Vanilla Spice Latte had taken an interest in the wall as well. Surely it couldn’t be her, could it?

“What’s gotten into you?” Julie asks when she rushes over to take the order of a customer who must have been trying to get my attention.

“Nothing.” I focus my attention back to the task at hand.

“Right.” She watches me like a hawk as morning turns to afternoon.

And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about the woman from yesterday. Each time the bell above the door chimes, my eyes flicker there, hoping to see her waltz in and order another coffee.

To distract myself, I pull out my notes from this morning. There is a wish I can’t get out of my mind. I walk back to the wall to refresh my memory before knocking on the door to the boss’s office.

“Come on in.” Matthew leans back in his chair and shuts his laptop.

“How would you feel about using the coffee shop as a venue for a romantic anniversary dinner?” I ask.

“Jake Harrison, I didn’t know you were… attached.”

I laugh and shake my head before filling him in on the wish of an elderly couple who are regulars. “Hank wants to do something nice for Louise, but they’re on a fixed income. I’d love to set up a romantic dinner for them here.”

Matthew’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Let’s do it. And see if we can take pictures to share on social media. Maybe we can get the camera crew to film it.”

Before he can shoot off an email to the TV producer, I shake my head. “I think this is more of a private affair. We wouldn’t want to take advantage of their situation.”

“Oh.” Matthew moves his hand away from the laptop he was about to crack back open. “That’s a good point. What else do you have on that wall of yours that we could use?”

Chapter Three

Sophia

“Head in the game, Sophia,” I tell myself when I’m distracted by the sight of the man before I even enter Coffee Loft. My mind has spent too much time the past three days returning to the memory of him. The way his jeans hug his legs. The way a simple t-shirt shows off his toned upper body. Don’t even get me started on those eyes of his. And I don’t even know the guy’s last name.

I square my shoulders, suck in a deep breath of the cool morning air coming off the river, and pull the door open.

“Welcome back.” His voice is as rich and deep as the aroma of coffee, sugar, and cinnamon swirling around us.

“I couldn’t stay away for long.” I smile, feeling decidedly like a teenager with a crush. Hopefully, with at least a hint of more confidence.

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