Page 31 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"I don't doubt myself."

"No?" Sophia's smile is knowing. "Then why haven't you written your own wish yet?"

I start to protest, then stop. I’ve started to, but she's right. I've been so busy helping others' wishes come true, I haven't dared to acknowledge my own.

"What would you wish for?" Jake asks softly.

Through the window, I catch a glimpse of flannel and dark hair. It’s Nolan, heading toward his truck. He pauses, looking toward the bakery, and for a moment our eyes meet through the glass.

Then he's gone, and I'm left with the ghost of what could have been.

"I'd wish," I say slowly, "for the courage to fight for what matters. All of it. The coffee shop, this town..." I take a deep breath. "And whatever this thing with Nolan could be, if we both stopped being so stubborn."

"Now that," Sophia says, "sounds like the Kathryn we know."

"But Cam?—"

"Needs clear boundaries," Jake finishes. "And if he can't respect them, that's a corporate HR issue, not a reflection on you."

They're right. About all of it. The coffee shop is more than Cam's agenda. The community is more than corporate metrics. And Nolan.

Nolan is worth fighting for.

"Okay." I stand, straightening my shoulders. "I need a wish card."

"That's my girl." Jake grins. "Going to write your heart out?"

"No." I gather my things, determination replacing uncertainty. "I'm going to climb a ladder and read whatever ridiculously high wish someone left on my wall."

"And then?"

I think of Nolan's quiet strength, his dedication to this town, the way he looks at me when he thinks I don't notice.

"And then I'm going to prove that some wishes are worth fighting for."

Chapter Twelve

Nolan

The lodge kitchen is my refuge on busy days. Something about the rhythm of inventory and preparation settles my mind. Today I'm organizing supplies for tomorrow's breakfast service, letting the mundane task of counting coffee cups drown out thoughts of other coffee-related matters.

"You wished you had the courage to trust again."

The familiar voice freezes me mid-count. Kathryn stands in the doorway, holding a wrinkled wish card I distinctly remember pinning well out of reach.

"Borrowed a ladder," she says, answering my unspoken question. "Though you could have saved me the trouble by just talking to me."

"I'm kind of busy here." I turn back to the cups, though I've lost count completely.

"Yeah, these coffee cups look pretty demanding." She steps into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. "Almost as demanding as avoiding someone for days."

"I haven't been avoiding?—"

"Don't." Her voice catches. "Don't lie to me, Nolan. Not after this." She holds up the card. "Not after everything."

I force myself to look at her. She's wearing that soft sweater again, the one that makes her look like she belongs here. But her eyes are fierce, challenging.

"It was just a wish," I say finally. "Part of the demonstration."

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