Chapter 1

Megs slumped against the espresso machine and brushed her curls behind her ears. "He actually called you that?"

"Swear on my life." Haley, perched at the counter, waved her muffin like a judge's gavel. Her dark hair framed her face in a symmetrical blunt bob, accentuating her almond eyes and dark brows. "I guess that's what I get for giving him my number. Paul had a dirty mind even back in seventh grade."

"I mean, fair." Megs grinned as Haley took an eager bite of her blueberry muffin and wiped the crumbs from her lips. "Did he show up at Juicy?"

Haley nodded. "Right at closing." Haley had built her juice empire in small-town Vermont from scratch, and Megs secretly, or not so secretly idolized her. Though, as best friend to her effortlessly cool older sister, Haley didn’t have to try much to reach goddess status. “How’s Bobbi?”

Megs sighed. “Not sure. I haven’t talked with her since last week. I think she’s swamped with post-production drama.” The past few weeks had been an anomaly. Megs and her older sister had actually talked more since Bobbi had taken her internship-turned-full-time gig with a production company in Vancouver than they had in the past four years of their lives combined. Including the time Bobbi lived in Sugar Creek.

“Oh, the life of the rich and famous.” Haley took another bite.

Megs laughed and dragged out the top rack of the dishwasher to finish loading. Closing time was in five minutes, and Green Mountain Grinds had been empty for the last half-hour. She may get out of here early today, thanks to the pumpkin patch opening this morning.

"Speaking of showing up at closing . . ." Haley nodded toward the front door, and Megs groaned. She'd forgotten to lock up and turn off the 'open' sign.

"Hey, I'm so sorry, but—" Megs started, then froze as she took in the man striding through the door. He was tall, dressed in a collared shirt and fitted charcoal slacks with a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His dark hair was mussed in an I just ran my hands through this kind of way, and as he pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose, Megs momentarily forgot how she’d intended to finish that sentence.

He approached the counter. "Afternoon." Megs bobbed her head, then realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. He glanced down and pulled out his wallet. "Can I get a latte, please?"

The man's deep voice made Megs' heart flutter like a butterfly trapped in a net. Megs cleared her throat. "Actually, the shop is—"

"About to close,” Haley cut in. “You snuck in right before the buzzer." Megs shot her a look as Haley hopped off her stool to go lock the front door.

"You like basketball?" the man called after her.

Haley glanced back in confusion, but Megs didn’t miss a beat. "The buzzer comment, Hales!” She turned to start on the coffee. “Do people still watch that?”

“Watch what?” the man asked behind her.

“Basketball.”

He shrugged. “Based on the ads I see, Naismith’s legacy seems to be far from fading into obscurity.”

“You know those ads are curated, right?” Megs looked over her shoulder and grinned. "Whipped cream?"

"No, thank you." He smiled, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. Who was this guy? She knew ninety percent of the people who came into Green Mountain on any given day, and she wouldn’t have forgotten a face like his.

“I don’t trust anyone who says no to whipped cream.” Haley slid back onto her stool.

He sighed. “People with dairy allergies. So sketchy.”

Megs snorted as steam hissed through the coffee maker. Anyone with a dairy allergy would not be ordering a latte. The man smirked as Haley finished her muffin, brushed off her hands, and pushed the plate toward the sink.

"Thanks for keeping me company." Megs scrubbed the counter and took Haley's saucer.

"If you pay me in gluten-free blueberry muffins, I'll keep you company every day." Haley grinned, then mouthed good luck to Megs as she walked toward the door. "See you when? Sunday night?"

"Maybe, not sure." Megs pulled a coffee cup from the rack.

"Not sure about karaoke? I'm horrified, but I'll let the comment pass this time. As long as you're there at seven." Haley waved and pushed out onto the street.

As the door closed, Megs’ awareness of the man standing at the counter behind her skyrocketed. Her mind wandered to a thousand different possibilities. Lawyer from Chicago sent to purchase a plot of land and ruin a small business. Recently divorced. From California looking to start over and find himself in a small town. No, the glasses screamed writer.

Megs blushed and hoped dark-hair-and-glasses guy would ascribe her pink cheeks to the molten hot liquid pouring into the mug in front of her. She twirled a spoon in the foam and set the coffee cup on a saucer, then handed it to him. “Your allergenic coffee, sir.”

"Perfect." The man studied her for a moment.

“You’re not actually lactose intolerant, right?” Megs braced herself with both palms on the counter.

“No, just making a point.”

“Broadening minds about coffee preferences one shop at a time?”

The man laughed, then turned to find a table, which wasn't difficult since the entire place was empty. He paused and glanced back. "Do you want me to take this to go? I didn't realize you were closing."

"No, as long as you don't mind me cleaning up in the background, you're welcome to stay and enjoy the peace and quiet."

He nodded once, then strode to the booth in the corner. It was her favorite spot. Megs had curled up there more than once after her closing shift to decompress, and the golden light that poured in through the front windows this time of year? Pure magic.

Mystery Man set his latte on the table and pulled out his laptop. Writer. Definitely a writer. Megs cleaned and sanitized the espresso machine then loaded Haley's plate into the dishwasher. She was in the middle of mopping the galley floor when she noticed the man’s messenger bag. Champlain Community College. The insignia was emblazoned on the leather flap.

"Champlain." Megs paused next to the table. "I used to go there."

"Really?" He looked up from his screen. "Small world."

Her skin heated as his eyes met hers. It is small, speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve seen you here in town before. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words. “Mmhmm.”

He looked over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. Megs knew exactly what it read. Three-thirty. He ran a hand through his hair, confirming her suspicions about his perfectly tousled look. "I didn't realize what time it was. I'll finish this and get out of here so you can close up."

Was he working on an assignment? He looked too old to be a student, though who was she to judge? Megs held up a hand. "I didn't come over here to push you out the door, I promise. I still have to finish mopping."

"How long will that take?"

Hours. She would mop for hours if it meant he would keep sitting in that booth. "About twenty minutes, give or take."

He nodded and glanced down at his latte. "Great coffee, by the way."

Megs gave a small bow, and he chuckled. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. “Where’d you go after Champlain?"

Megs blinked. “Oh, nowhere. I only took a few classes.”

He paused. “Sorry, I assumed—”

“No, I get it. I’m sure most people attend and then move on to bigger and better things.”

He nodded. “Why’d you leave, then?”

Megs motioned at the empty shop. "Because I got an offer I couldn't refuse." His dimples came out in full force, and Megs’ heart raced.

"College isn’t right for everyone.”

And Megs knew what that meant. Her mom had made it clear for the past few years who everyone in that sentence referred to. Everyone who was lazy. Everyone who had no stick-to-it-iveness. Everyone who couldn’t hack it.

"What were you studying?" he asked as his fingers resumed their dance over the keys.

Megs gripped the mop handle a bit tighter. "Hadn't gotten that far. Life had other plans, I guess." Life didn’t seem to have any plans besides picking off her plans one by one.

He picked up his cup and took a sip of his latte. "Always throwing curveballs when we least expect it."

Megs grinned. "You like baseball?"

He laughed, and his coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup.

Megs gasped and lurched forward, dropping the mop as she yanked his laptop off the side of the table. "Sorry, I—"

"No, thanks for saving the important stuff." He slapped a napkin over the spill and then attempted to soak up the coffee that had splashed over his fingers.

Megs caught a glimpse of the words ‘Grade Submission’ on his screen as she set the laptop back on the table in front of him. Professor? If she’d had a teacher like him, maybe she would have stayed enrolled.

Gideon looked up from his laptop every so often, stealing glances at the curly-haired employee as she pushed the mop over the wood floors. She was charming. Funny. Though she was probably like that with everyone who walked through the door. The sign of a good barista and insurance for tips.

He finished the email he'd been crafting for his Intro to Audio class and pressed send. The first assignment he’d given was due over the weekend, and while he didn't make a habit of coddling his students, he liked to ease them into things at the beginning of the semester.

The skin between his fingers was still a bit sticky as he folded up his laptop and tucked it inside his messenger bag. The barista picked up the mop and headed back behind the counter, which meant it was time for him to go. He slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and moved to pick up his used napkin and coffee cup.

"I can get that." The woman stopped and set the mop up against the wall, then walked over and tucked her auburn curls behind her ears. She was adorable in her light-wash jeans, cream apron, and loose floral t-shirt. Against the brick walls and hanging plants, she looked like she could be a permanent design fixture.

"Thanks again." He handed the cup to her but kept the dirty napkin wadded in his fist. He'd throw his own trash in the bin on his way out the door. "And good luck with whatever life throws at you next."

"Thanks," she replied, a smile playing on her lips. She had great lips. "You too."

He opened his mouth to ask her name, but she'd already turned to take his coffee cup to the sink. Her curls bounced against her shoulders, and Gideon watched her retreating figure as long as he could before he worried she'd glance back and catch him gawking.

He should say something. Ask for her number? The idea made his hands tingle. Any past relationship he’d been in had happened naturally, and he didn’t have practice with being confident and bold.

He walked toward the trash center and tossed his napkin in the slot marked 'compost.' He'd be back in Sugar Creek in two weeks to help with another class at the Champlain satellite campus. Maybe he could stop in at Green Mountain then and work on an action plan.

"Have a great evening," the woman called out behind him. His throat was thick as he turned and waved. He only caught the coffee shop hours plastered to the glass in vinyl on the door as it closed behind him.

Two-thirty. They closed at two-thirty on Wednesdays.

Megs walked to her car over an hour late without an ounce of regret. Her feet ached, and she needed a neck massage something fierce, but she felt lighter than she had all week. Why hadn't she asked for his number? Or at least his name. She'd thought about it more than once, but then the timing hadn't been quite right.

Ugh. Timing. Hadn’t that always been her problem? People like Haley didn’t wait for good timing, they spoke up and asked for what they wanted. She sighed. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Megs was never sure what she wanted. The one time she’d felt that burning in her gut and tried to fight for a dream, it had landed her right back here. Twenty-five. Living in her childhood bedroom.

Her agent had texted right as she was locking up. She had an audition for a dog food spot, and it paid well. If she recorded her self-tape video right when she got home, the lighting would still be good. Auditions had been slow all summer, so this was a good sign. Maybe things were picking up before the holidays?

Megs slid into the driver's seat of her 2008 Honda Civic, then pulled away from the curb. She blew out a breath and mentally calculated what she’d have in her savings account come Friday’s paycheck. Should be just enough to finally pay back the loan her mom had helped her get after high school to move to Chicago. Eleven months. That was all the time it had taken to send her packing for home.

Now, after dropping out of Champlain, it was community theater, Green Mountain Grinds, and commercial acting work until she could figure out what to do next. Until she knew what she wanted. That was a joke. She knew what she wanted, she just couldn’t seem to get it.

Megs pulled into the driveway and walked through the front door. She looked up, surprised to see her mom sitting on the couch with a laptop on the coffee table. Sylvia DeBosse was an intimidating woman with her scrutinizing stare and over-the-top dramatic energy. Her attention to detail made her an excellent director . . . and a bulldozer of a mother when she wasn’t distracted.

"You're home early." Megs slipped off her sneakers.

"Where have you been? I thought you closed at two-thirty?" Her mother looked more frazzled than usual, especially since she wasn’t in the middle of a musical run. September meant auditions for community theater—the honeymoon stage of any show—and this autumn, her mother was producing Into the Woods. Megs was surprised she hadn’t been nudging her to throw her hat in the ring for the baker’s wife.

"I had to stay late." Megs unclipped her leather waist bag and set it on the end table, then slumped into the loveseat across from her mother. She turned the computer screen to face her, and Megs’ eyes lit up.

"Bobbi? I didn't know you were video chatting today!"

Her sister laughed. "Yeah, thanks to you, I’ve had to shoot the breeze with Mom for at least a half hour."

A man with dark hair dipped into view of the camera. "Hey, Megs."

Megs waved. "Hey, Ben." He kissed Bobbi's cheek and disappeared from the frame. Well, they seemed happy. A twinge of envy made her pucker. She would never want Bobbi to be unhappy and was thrilled things had worked out between her and Ben last Christmas. That hole in her chest was entirely a ‘her’ problem.

Megs looked between Bobbi and her mom. "So? To what do we owe this pleasure? Is everything okay?"

Bobbi shrugged. “Things are fine here. Busy. Mom’s the one who said she needed to talk.”

Sylvia pulled the laptop back to face her and motioned for Megs to cross the room and sit next to her on the couch. "I had something to tell you girls, so I called Bobbi, but then you didn't get home on time."

Megs frowned and slipped past the coffee table to sit down in front of the screen. Her mom wasn't one to make a big deal out of things. She was intense, but she didn't create drama out of nothing and wasn’t one to keep information under wraps. If she'd waited to share until both girls were present, it had to be something big.

"Mom, are you sick?" Megs whispered, and Sylvia slapped her leg.

"No! I'm not sick, just . . ." She drew a deep breath and pushed her curls back from her face. "Girls, I've made a decision, and I'd love for you to be supportive." Bobbi leaned in closer to the camera on her phone. "Truthfully, this is going to impact you, Megs, more than your sister." Her mom turned to her with an apologetic smile. "Frank and I are moving in together."

Bobbi squealed.

Megs' eyes widened. She’d buried herself so deep in the mental rabbit hole of illness, layoffs, or any other existence-shattering piece of bad news that she hadn’t even considered something good.

"That's—I'm—wow, Mom, that's amazing!" Megs blustered and threw her arms around her mom’s shoulders.

After years of obvious interest, Frank had finally asked Sylvia out after Bobbi left Sugar Creek. When Megs had woken up to Frank having a bowl of cereal at their kitchen table on multiple occasions, it’d been obvious their relationship was progressing. This shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Megs still found herself mentally adjusting to the news. Frank would be moving in here? That meant no more walking around in her bra and underwear, but she'd gladly give that up for her mother's happiness.

"Did you think we'd be upset about this?" Megs asked as she pulled back.

Her mom’s brows pulled together. "That's not exactly the part I was worried about." Megs frowned, and Bobbi’s eyes narrowed. "I'm selling the house. Frank's house is better suited for us, especially with the shop, and with prices going up, it makes the most sense to sell now before the holidays . . ."

Sylvia continued talking, but Megs stopped listening as a low ringing sounded in her ears, and the floor seemed to drop out from under her. Selling the house?

Frank wasn't moving in here. Her mother was moving in with him. She was selling their childhood home. She was selling her adulthood home. That meant—

"How soon?" Megs cut in.

Sylvia swallowed and clasped her hands in her lap. "One month."

"Do you already have offers?" Bobbi asked through the screen.

Their mother nodded. "Three. I know which one I'm going to accept, I only have to work out a few details with the realtor. Both of us have to be out on October seventh."