Page 8 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"Community isn't something you can franchise."

"No," she agrees. "But maybe some people understand that better than others." She pauses at the door. "Your mother also used to say the best views come after the hardest climbs. Food for thought, dear."

I watch her go, then turn back to the railing. It's solid now, no matter how hard I shake it. The morning sun breaks through the trees, casting long shadows across the porch. In the distance, I hear Connor's group setting out on their hike, their voices bright with anticipation.

"Fine," I mutter to the morning air. "I'll keep an open mind."

A chickadee lands on the railing, tilting its head at me.

"But I'm not going to like it."

The bird chirps what sounds suspiciously like laughter before flying away, leaving me alone with thoughts of hazelnut macchiatos and community boards and the way Kathryn's eyes lit up when she first saw the mountains.

The Saturday market turns our town square into organized chaos, like it does every weekend. Local vendors set up their stalls under striped awnings, selling everything from honey to hand-knitted scarves. Usually, I'm here early to network withpotential lodge partners, but today I'm running late after fixing that railing.

I'm discussing winter festival plans with Beth, who makes the best apple butter in three counties, when a laugh catches my attention. A familiar laugh, but somehow different from the polished chuckle I heard at the lodge.

Kathryn Taylor stands at Marie's flower stall, but she's not the corporate warrior I saw yesterday. Her hair's pulled back in a casual ponytail, and she's wearing jeans and a soft-looking sweater the color of mountain laurel blooms. Running shoes instead of those city heels. She's holding up a bunch of wildflowers, head tilted as she listens to Marie explain something about their meanings.

She looks comfortable. Like she belongs here among the market crowd instead of in some corporate boardroom.

"Earth to Nolan." Beth waves her hand in front of my face. "Should I come back when you're done staring?"

"I wasn't—" But Beth's already grinning and packing up a jar of apple butter.

"On the house," she says, pressing it into my hands. "For entertainment value."

I'm about to protest when Kathryn spots me. Something flickers across her face before she smiles. It's not her professional smile from the lodge. This one's got a hint of challenge in it.

"Mr. Mountain Man." She tucks her flowers into a canvas market bag. "No flannel today? I'm disappointed."

"Casual Friday was yesterday." I gesture to her outfit. "But I see you got the memo about dress code today."

"What, this old thing?" She does a playful twirl that belongs more at a county fair than a corporate takeover. "Turns out heels aren't ideal for market reconnaissance."

"Is that what this is?" I lean against Marie's stall. "Gathering intel on local commerce patterns?"

"Absolutely." She pulls a notepad from her bag with exaggerated seriousness. "Item one: Marie's wildflowers would look much better than those sad fake plants currently gathering dust at—" She breaks off, something uncertain crossing her face.

"At the coffee shop?" I finish, surprised to find the words don't taste as bitter as they did this morning.

"Sorry." She tucks the notepad away. "I know it's a sore subject."

"Everything's a sore subject in a small town." I surprise myself by adding, "But you're right about Marie's flowers."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Was that almost an agreement, Nolan Callahan?"

"Must be the fresh air affecting my judgment."

Marie, who's been pretending not to listen, snorts. "Or maybe your aunt's morning pep talk?"

Kathryn's eyebrows rise. "Evie gives pep talks?"

"More like wisdom wrapped in mountain metaphors." The words come out before I can stop them, easy and natural.

"Let me guess. Something about fog lifting?"

"How did you?—"

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