Page 44 of All You Need Is Macchiato

The morning sun streams through windows we polished yesterday, catching on Marie's fresh flowers and the local artwork now adorning our walls. Sara's pastry case—actually full these days—draws a constant stream of admirers. In the corner, Connor helps the high school music teacher set up for today's acoustic performance.

"Speaking of success..." Nolan nods toward the door where Beth from the market arrives with her arms full. "Looks like the community display is about to get more interesting."

I move to help her, but Annie beats me to it. "I've got this," she says with a knowing look. "You two oversee from a safe distance."

"We're not that bad," I protest.

"Yesterday you spent twenty minutes arranging three coffee cups because, and I quote, 'They needed to tell a story.'"

"They did!" But I'm laughing as Nolan pulls me away from the counter.

He guides me to our favorite spot, where we can watch the morning unfold. His arm slides around my shoulders, and I lean into him, savoring the quiet moment amid the cheerful chaos.

"Remember your first day here?" he asks softly.

"You mean when the pastry case was empty and the espresso machine made concerning noises?"

"I mean when you walked in wearing corporate armor and impractical shoes, looking like everything I thought I didn't want."

I elbow him gently. "And now?"

"Now you're everything I didn't know I needed." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Though your shoes are still impractical."

Before I can defend my footwear choices, Marie's voice carries across the shop. "Kathryn, dear! Where should I put these new centerpieces?"

"I'll help," Nolan offers, but I catch his sleeve.

"Stay. Watch with me? Just for a minute?"

He settles back beside me, and together we take in the scene. Old Joe teaches a teenager to knit while sharing stories about Elk Ridge's history. Sara discusses recipe modifications with a young mother. Beth arranges local honey and handmade soaps beside Marie's flowers, creating a snapshot of mountain craftsmanship.

And everywhere, people read wishes. Some laugh, some nod in understanding, some quietly add their own offerings tothe wall. Connections form like morning dew—subtle, natural, beautiful.

"You did this," Nolan murmurs.

"We did this." I turn into him slightly. "Though sometimes I still can't believe it's real."

"Which part? The successful coffee shop or the devastatingly handsome business partner?"

"Both." I smile up at him. "All of it. Being here, belonging here..."

"Kathryn?" A quiet voice interrupts. Mrs. Thompson, our retired librarian, stands before us with tears in her eyes. "I wanted to thank you. Both of you. This place, what you've created here... it's given us back something we didn't even realize we'd lost."

My throat tightens. "We just provided the space. The community did the rest."

She shakes her head. "You provided hope. Connection. A reason to come together." She squeezes my hand. "You've given us back our heart."

She moves away before I can respond, leaving me fighting tears of my own.

"Hey." Nolan's thumb brushes my cheek. "You okay?"

"Better than okay." I look around at this place that's become so much more than a coffee shop. "I'm home."

The word feels right on my tongue, true in my heart. This is where I belong—among wishes and coffee cups and mountain mornings. Among people who've become family and a man who looks at me like I'm his favorite dream come true.

"I love you," I say, the words rising naturally as steam from a perfect latte. "You know that, right?"

His smile is brighter than any city skyline I've left behind. "I love you too. Even in those shoes."

---