Page 32 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"Really?" She moves closer. "So you regularly write about trust issues on community wish walls?"

"What do you want from me, Kathryn?"

"I want to understand what happened. One day we're planning events, talking about community, making something special. The next you can barely look at me."

"Nothing happened." I start restacking cups with more force than necessary. "We worked together on some events. They were successful. End of story."

"Is that what you really think?" She's close enough now that I can smell her vanilla-scented shampoo. "That all this was just business?"

"Wasn't it?" The words taste bitter. "You and Cam seemed pretty clear on the business aspects."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "So that's what this is about. You saw Cam?—"

"I saw exactly what I needed to see." A cup clatters to the counter. "You two make a perfect corporate team."

"You're wrong." But there's more hurt than heat in her voice. "And if you actually believe that, then you never knew me at all."

"I know enough." I grip the edge of the counter, needing something solid. "I know how these stories go. Corporate partnerships, strategic alliances?—"

"Stop it." She slams the wish card down between us. "You don't get to rewrite what happened to fit your assumptions. You want to know what really happened with Cam? He made unwanted advances that I've been professionally deflecting because I'm trying to save a coffee shop that means something to this town. To you."

The knot in my chest tightens. "Kathryn?—"

"But you didn't bother to ask, did you? You just decided you knew better. Decided to pull away. To stop trusting." She picks up the card again. "Guess your wish came true, just not the way you meant it."

"That's not fair."

"No?" Her voice wavers. "Then tell me what is fair, Nolan. Tell me why you really wrote this wish. Tell me why you've been avoiding me. Tell me something real."

I look at her—really look at her—and see the truth I've been avoiding. There's no corporate calculation in her eyes. No strategic alliance. Just hurt and hope and a challenge I'm suddenly terrified to answer.

"I can't." The words come out harder than intended. "Some things are better left as business."

She steps back like I've struck her. "Right. Business." She straightens her shoulders, and I watch the warmth drain from her expression. "Thank you for clarifying our professional relationship. I won't make the mistake of assuming anything more."

"Kathryn, wait?—"

But she's already gone, taking her vanilla scent and her soft sweater and her ability to make me question everything I thought I knew with her.

Through the kitchen window, I watch her cross the parking lot. She doesn't look back. Doesn't see me pick up the wish card she left behind. Doesn't hear me curse my own stubbornness.

You wished you had the courage to trust again.

The words mock me now, written in my own hand. Some wishes come true in the worst possible ways.

The mountains disappear first when night falls, becoming shadows against a darker sky. The trees go next, their individual shapes melting into a mass of black. But the stars, they come alive, one by one, until the sky above Mountain Laurel Lodge glitters like broken glass on velvet.

I'm cataloging these changes from my spot on the front porch, a crumpled wish card still clutched in my hand, when Aunt Evie appears with two steaming mugs.

"Your mother used to do this too." She settles into the rocker beside me. "Whenever something was weighing on her, she'd sit out here and watch the night come in."

"I'm just getting some air."

"Mmm." She passes me a mug. "And that's why you've been out here since Kathryn left? Just enjoying the evening breeze?"

The tea is her special blend—herbs from her garden, steeped in memory and meaning. "I messed up."

"Yes." Her rocker creaks softly. "Though I suspect you knew that even before she confronted you with your own wish."

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