Page 13 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"And business meetings qualify as special occasions?"

His hands linger on my chair as I sit. "Depends on the business."

Before I can process that, Evie sweeps in with a covered dish that fills the room with the rich aroma of her famous pot roast.

"You two work as late as you need." She sets down the dish with a knowing smile. "I'll make sure no one disturbs you."

"We won't be that long," I protest. "Just a quick planning session?—"

"The pot roast disagrees." Nolan's already lifting the lid, releasing more mouthwatering scents. "And you don't argue with Declan's pot roast."

"Is that a local ordinance?"

"Might as well be." He pours wine into my glass, and I definitely don't notice how the firelight plays across his forearms where he's rolled up his sleeves.

I reach for my bag. "While we eat, I can show you my ideas for?—"

"Nope." He gently pushes the bag away. "First rule of mountain dining. No work until after the pot roast."

"There are rules now?"

"Many." His eyes dance with amusement. "All strictly enforced."

The pot roast is every bit as legendary as promised, falling apart at the touch of a fork. Conversation flows as easily as thewine—about the lodge, about my time in Wilmington, about his marketing projects that have nothing to do with coffee shops.

"So there I am," he's saying, "trying to convince this luxury travel magazine that yes, we actually want them to feature our mud run event."

"No."

"Oh yes. Sent them pictures of Wall Street types covered head to toe in mountain mud. They loved it."

I'm laughing so hard I have to set down my wine glass. "Please tell me you have copies."

"Maybe." He leans back, watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "You have a great laugh, you know that?"

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I... thank you?"

"Don't hear it much when you're in corporate mode."

"I'm not always in corporate mode."

"No?" He leans forward, and suddenly the table feels much smaller. "Prove it. Tell me something that's not in your proposal drafts."

I should reach for my bag, steer us back to business. Instead, I find myself saying, "I collect refrigerator magnets."

His eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"From everywhere I travel. My fridge looks ridiculous. This whole mismatched collage of places and memories."

"And what magnet will you choose for Elk Ridge?"

The way he's looking at me makes it hard to think. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe a mountain. Or a coffee cup."

"Basic." He shakes his head. "We'll have to find you something better."

We'll. The word hangs in the air between us.

"Right," I say quickly. "Speaking of coffee. Should we look at those event ideas?"

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