Page 29 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"Exactly. I speak from experience." He grins, but his eyes are serious. "Though sometimes we have reasons for our idiocy."

Before I can ask what he means, Cam emerges from his office. He's traded his usual suit for designer casual wear, looking like a GQ spread on "rustic chic."

"Numbers looking good?" He stops at our table, standing just a fraction too close.

"Very." I angle my tablet away from his gaze. "The Wishing Wall is exceeding expectations."

"Just like its creator." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We should celebrate. Dinner, perhaps? Discuss future initiatives."

"Actually, I'm pretty booked with event planning." I gesture to my work spread across the table. "But thanks."

"Another time, then." He trails his fingers across the back of my chair as he moves away. "My door's always open."

I suppress a shudder.

"Want me to accidentally spill his next latte?" Jake offers once Cam's out of earshot.

"Tempting, but no." I gather my things, needing to move. "I'm going to check the wall."

The Wishing Wall has evolved since its installation. People have started adding small photos, drawings, even pressed flowers to their cards. Each wish tells a story:Looking for gardening advice - my tomatoes need help!Need tips for making the perfect pie crust.Seeking chess partners for Tuesday afternoon games.Need help organizing Grandma's photo albums before Christmas.

I add a few blank cards to the basket, straightening ones that have gone crooked. A child's crayon drawing catches my eye—a wobbly house with "thank you for helping mom" scrawled beneath it.

This is what matters. This is what makes Coffee Loft special. This is what Nolan helped create, whether he wants to acknowledge it now or not.

My phone buzzes. For a moment, hope flares, but it's just corporate requesting another progress report.

"Hey." Sophia appears beside me, camera in hand. "Want to help me document some wish stories? I'm thinking of doing a photo series about connections made."

"Sure." I welcome the distraction. "Though shouldn't we wait for your better half?"

"Jake's got a foundation meeting." She starts setting up her shot. "Besides, I think you could use the company."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's been watching you keep an eye on the door all morning." She adjusts her lens. "Want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about." I straighten another wish card. "Sometimes people withdraw."

"And sometimes they need a push to explain why." She snaps a photo of Old Joe teaching a teenager about local fishing spots."Jake was like that at first. So sure he knew how stories would end, he almost missed his own."

"Nolan's not Jake."

"No." She reviews her shot. "He’s acting like someone who's been hurt before, watching history apparently repeat itself."

I think of his abrupt exit from the farmers' market, how he wouldn't meet my eyes at the lodge. "What do you mean, apparently?"

But Sophia's already focused on her next shot, leaving me to puzzle over her words.

The morning crowd starts thinning, regulars heading to work with promises to check their matched wishes later. I add a few more blank cards to the basket, my fingers lingering on the soft paper.

A note card catches my eye, pinned high above the others. The handwriting is familiar, but the card is just out of reach. Just like its author.

My tablet chimes with another corporate email, but for once, I let it wait. Instead, I pull out a blank wish card, turning it over in my hands.

"So," Jake says, sliding into our usual corner booth at Miller's Bakery, "are we going to talk about why you're mainlining Sara's cinnamon rolls?"

I look down at the half-eaten pastry in front of me. "They're good for market research."

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