1. Aspen

One

Aspen

“I’m sorry, Aspen.” Mrs. Wilder placed her slender hand on my shoulder. I could see the tears pooling in her eyes as she quickly wiped them with her free hand. “You’ve done so much for us over the years. It’s time Gus and I move on, and closing up shop is the first step.” All the emotions began to hit me, the years I spent here, the blood, sweat, and tears I shed to help keep this place running.

“I know this is short notice,” Gus interjected from behind his wife, “with the grandkids growing up, we want to set aside money and time for them. Selling is the best option.”

I’ve been working at The Coffee Cup since I was fifteen. I thought by twenty-five I would be the one to take over the shop, buy it off the Wilders, and give them the retirement they deserved. Yet, here I was, living paycheck to paycheck at twenty-five with no extra cash to offer them.”

“I get it. Family is important, but I have one question.” I inhaled the coffee-filled air. There wasn’t just the loss of a job I was dealing with. Selling meant the building would go, which also meant my living situation as I lived in the attached apartment. “How long do I have before I need to move out?” Gus and Betty gave each other a look which I knew wouldn’t be good for my situation.

“We hoped you could be out by the end of the month.”

It was the second week of May, which meant I had roughly three weeks to pack up everything and move. I had a little nest egg to rely on during the transition, but it wasn’t more than a month of expenses. All my thoughts were spinning at once. Where would I go? Did I really want to move back in with my parents? How was I going to get everything done in three weeks? Where did I even begin?

Tears formed behind my eyes from pure anger. I’d dedicated all these years to creating a profitable business, but now, where did that leave me? Homeless and unemployed. I understood their reasoning; however, the little time they offered didn’t give me any form of security or comfort. I fought back the tears, put on my strong face, and took a deep breath to face the day.

* * *

After discussing the timeline with the Wilders, we determined that I’d work through the next week, and then they’d officially close shop. The optimistic part of me wanted to see this as a fresh start, a chance to change my life and go after what I’d always wanted. However, uncertainty clouded my thoughts because The Coffee Cup was all I knew.

The cute, vintage cafe was a space for the people in town to come and mingle. The shop was decorated with second-hand pieces of furniture gathered from people living in the town; tables, chairs, and even couches. One wall was lined with rustic bookshelves stuffed with donated books. Nothing matched, yet everything had character. The coffee cups were collected, too, giving them a second chance. That’s what I loved most about this place; everything and everyone was welcome.

I started working here as a barista at fifteen when my grandma mentioned to Mrs. Wilder that she had a granddaughter who loved books and coffee and had zero social life. I sounded like the perfect candidate, so she hired me on the spot. After graduating high school, I began managing the shop, and the Wilders became less involved. Fast-forward seven years, and it was time for them to move on completely.

I scrubbed the last bit of counter before I headed to the door, flipping the sign from “closed” to “open.” I stood, peering out into the town.

It was 7 a.m., and people were starting to wake. Locals were running in town, walking their dogs, or on their way to work. The stone streets were lined with red oak trees and decorated with tall, black lampposts. Faircloud Community Park ran adjacent to the main drag, making it convenient to the heart of town.

This small town was everything to me. I stayed, forgoing college, to remain in the place I called home. I found a sense of comfort and familiarity here. If there was one thing about me, it’s that I didn’t like to step out of my “comfy cozy.”

If I were to describe comfort, it would consist of a romance book, a porch swing, and a glass of red wine. There’s solace in a good book, in escaping to other small towns while reading about breathtaking romances. The kind of love stories that can cure a broken heart or make you feel something you crave to feel. One day, I wanted to experience that. I wanted to live in my very own small town, romance so strong that I could write a book about it to share with other romantics like myself.

Sighing, I ran my hands down my flower-printed sundress and fixed my hair in the reflection of the door before heading back to the counter. I finished all my prep in the morning before the Wilders came by and dropped the bomb. Needing to already escape from the day, I sat on the wooden stool and opened my book. A cowboy-inspired romance, the second book in a series I’ve come to love. Meadowlark, Wyoming, was where I needed to be. If that place were real, I’d buy a ticket and hop on the first flight.

* * *

My morning flew by. With each customer who came in, I had to break the news about the shop. Everyone felt the same way. The Coffee Cup was a staple; the town wouldn’t be the same without it. I kept my smile with each customer despite the nagging feeling of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach.

I was pouring coffee for one of our regulars when the door chimed.

“Welcome in! I’ll be right with you!” I shouted, not looking up from the coffee pot. When I handed off the mug, I wiped my hands on my apron and greeted the customer at the register.

“What can I get—” my sentence was cut off when my eyes met a pair of blue ones staring right back at me. Aside from blue, they were green and flecked with gold. A shadow was cast upon his face by a khaki-colored cowboy hat.

Boone Cassidy stood at the counter in a white t-shirt, light wash wrangler jeans, and shit-kicker cowboy boots, oozing with sex appeal. With a reputation for being reckless and the life of the party, Boone had this energy about him that made all the girls nervous. I would be lying if I said he didn’t have that same effect on me.

“In all the years I’ve lived in this town, I’ve barely stepped foot in here,” he scoffed to himself, taking in the mismatched furniture, and handwritten menu board, bringing those “fuck me eyes” back to me. I melted under the gaze; my mind became mush.

I’d never had a reason to talk to Boone. We went to the same school but ran with completely different crowds. Me, my nose in a book or sitting at the park with my two closest friends. Him, causing chaos wherever he went or throwing a party every weekend. We were complete opposites in every way.

Apparently, I forgot every word in the English language when his eyes met mine for the second time. It took a loud crash, what sounded like a cup hitting the floor, to bring me back to reality. I shook my head and gathered all the strength I could not to make myself look like a total idiot.

“Well, what brought you in today?” I attempted what I wanted to be a flirty smile, but it felt totally wrong. They made it sound so easy in romance books.

“I had to come to see what the fuss was about,” Boone confessed with a flirty smirk. News spreads fast in a small town. You knew everyone’s business; nothing was safe or secret.

“Now is as good a time as any,” I replied. “Are you a coffee drinker? We have the best coffee in town. Also, the blueberry muffins are made fresh every day.” I leaned against the counter with one hand pressed on the cold marble. Boone pondered for a minute, looking at the menu above my head. That gave me every chance to soak in his toned arms, which bulged against his tee, and the mustache, which I found insanely attractive. It was light brown, like the messy hair that he kept under his signature cowboy hat. I didn’t know what it was, but I went feral for a mustache.

Boone cleared his throat. “I’ll take a coffee with extra cream and sugar. One of those muffins too.” He flashed me a smile and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. When I took the money from his hand, our fingers brushed slightly. His hands were calloused, decorated with the reminder of hard work.

I bet he is good with his hands, I thought to myself.

Aspen! Get your mind out of the gutter.

I couldn’t look back up; his eyes were fixed on me. My hands trembled as I pulled his change from the register and gave it to him, being extra careful not to make any more physical contact. Quickly, I gathered his order and handed it to him in a to-go bag.

“Have a good rest of your day. I hope it’s worth all the fuss.” I smiled and fixed my hair, tucking it behind my ears, a movement I made whenever I got nervous. Pausing a moment before taking the bag from my grasp, his gaze devoured me. Boone nodded and tipped his hat toward me, giving me the cowboy salute.

“I think I’ll be back regardless,” he said, smirking.

Deep down, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I’d be seeing Boone Cassidy, and with the way he looked at me just now, I knew he thought it, too.