Coffee

Three hours later, Autumn’s back was protesting the café chair, her coffee was cold, and she’d written four pages that she’d probably delete tomorrow. But still—four pages. That was something.

“Taking a break?” Rose appeared with a fresh latte, this one with a perfect leaf design in the foam. “On the house, because you look like you need it.”

“Grandma, you can’t keep giving me free coffee. That’s not how businesses work.”

“My café, my rules. Besides, you help out when Daisy can’t make it, so consider it payment.” Rose glanced at the stranger, who was still working intently on his laptop. “He’s been here since nine. Haven’t seen him take a single break. Very dedicated.”

“Or very caffeinated,” Autumn said, taking a sip of her fresh latte.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

“What? Why would I talk to him?”

Rose gave her that look—the one that said she knew exactly what Autumn was thinking. “Because you’ve been sneaking glances at him for the past three hours, dear. Very subtle, by the way. Like a cat watching a bird.”

“Grandma!” Autumn’s voice came out as a mortified whisper. “I have not been—okay, maybe a little, but only because he’s… here. In my peripheral vision. Geographically.”

“Mm-hmm.” Rose patted her shoulder. “Well, if you’re not going to talk to him, at least take him this turnover. He’s been eyeing them for the last hour but seems too polite to order another.”

Before Autumn could protest, Rose placed a warm apple turnover on a small plate and pressed it into her hands. “Go on. It’s called being neighborly. We do that here in Maplewood.”

“This is entrapment,” Autumn muttered, but she stood up anyway, her heart doing an odd little flutter. It’s just a turnover. You’re just being friendly. Normal, casual, not weird at all.

She walked the three steps to his table, and he looked up immediately. Up close, his eyes were even more striking—gray with the slightest hint of blue, like storm clouds.

“Hi,” she said, then immediately felt stupid. “I mean, my grandmother wanted me to bring you this. The turnover. She noticed you looking at them. Not in a creepy way! She notices everything. About everyone. It’s kind of her superpower. Along with making incredible pastries, which this is, by the way. A pastry. An incredible one.”

Stop. Talking. Autumn.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, that almost-smile returned. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

His voice was even more attractive up close. Smooth, measured, with a slight rasp that suggested too many early mornings or late nights.

“You’re welcome. I’m Autumn, by the way. Autumn Hayes. Rose is my grandmother.” She gestured back at the counter where Rose was pretending not to watch them while very obviously watching them.

“Elias,” he said. “Elias Blackwood. Though most people call me Eli.”

“Nice to meet you, Eli.” She should walk away now. That would be the normal thing to do. Deliver turnover, exchange names, return to table. Simple. But her mouth kept moving. “Are you visiting Maplewood, or…?”

“Staying for a while,” he said, and something in his tone suggested he wasn’t interested in elaborating. But then he added, “It’s quiet here. Peaceful. Different from what I’m used to.”

“Let me guess—you’re from the city?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“The laptop gave it away. And the…” she gestured vaguely at his entire aesthetic. “Everything else.”

This time, he definitely smiled. Small, but real. “I’ll try to blend in better.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t criticizing! You look great. Not that how you look matters. I mean, it matters to you, presumably, but not to—I’m going to stop talking now.” Autumn felt her face burning. “Enjoy the turnover.”

She turned to flee back to her safe corner, but his voice stopped her.

“What are you working on?”

She turned back. “Sorry?”

“Your laptop. You’ve been typing pretty intently all morning.” He paused. “I wasn’t watching you specifically. I just notice… things. In my peripheral vision. Geographically.”

Was he… teasing her? The serious, intense stranger was using her own awkward words back at her, and there was definitely amusement in his eyes now.

Autumn felt herself smile despite her embarrassment. “A novel. Or trying to. It’s a romance about a bookshop owner and a traveling musician who gets stranded in her small town during a snowstorm.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s probably terrible. I’ve rewritten the first chapter sixteen times.”

“Sixteen times means you care about getting it right.” Eli broke off a piece of the turnover, and she tried not to notice the elegant way he moved. Everything about him seemed so controlled, so intentional. “That’s not terrible. That’s dedicated.”

“Or stubborn.”

“The best writers usually are.”

Something in the way he said it made Autumn curious. “Are you a writer?”

“No.” He looked back at his screen, and she saw columns of numbers, complicated spreadsheets. “Definitely not a writer.”

“Well, whatever you do, it looks intense.”

“It is.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Or it was. I’m trying to… step away from it. For a while.”

There was something in his voice—not quite sadness, but maybe exhaustion. Like someone who’d been running for so long they’d forgotten why they started.

“Maplewood’s a good place for that,” Autumn said softly. “Stepping away. Everything moves slower here. In a good way.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, something passed between them—recognition, maybe, of two people who understood what it meant to need a break from the world.

The bell above the door chimed, breaking the moment. Owen walked in, all smiles and golden retriever energy, his veterinary scrubs still on from the morning shift.

“Auti!” he called out, waving. “Ready for lunch?”

“Hey, Owen. Give me two seconds.” She turned back to Eli. “I should go. But, um, welcome to Maplewood. And Rose’s. You’ll find us very friendly. Sometimes aggressively friendly. Fair warning.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.” Eli’s expression was softer now, less guarded. “Thank you for the turnover, Autumn.”

The way he said her name, careful and deliberate, sent an unexpected warmth through her chest. She nodded, smiled, and walked back to gather her things, very aware that Owen was watching with undisguised curiosity.

“Who’s Mr. Tall Dark and Brooding?” Owen asked in a stage whisper as she packed her laptop.

“A customer. Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Owen said, injured. Then, louder, “Hi there! Welcome to Maplewood! I’m Dr. Owen Matthews, local veterinarian. If you have any pets that need check-ups, my clinic’s just down the street!”

Eli looked up, slightly startled by Owen’s enthusiastic greeting. “Thank you. No pets currently, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Great! Well, any friend of Auti’s is a friend of mine.” Owen slung an arm around Autumn’s shoulders in that casual, comfortable way he always did. “Ready? I’m starving, and Hank says he got a first edition Steinbeck in that I need to see.”

As they headed toward the door, Autumn glanced back one more time. Eli was watching them, something unreadable in his expression. When their eyes met, he nodded slightly, then returned to his work.

Outside, the autumn air was crisp and perfect, leaves crunching under their feet as they walked toward the diner.

“So,” Owen said, his tone carefully casual. “City boy, huh?”

“He’s just a customer, Owen.”

“A customer you brought a pastry to.”

“Grandma made me!”

“Mm-hmm.” Owen grinned. “And does this customer have a name?”

“Eli. Elias Blackwood.”

“Fancy name. Probably drives a fancy car. Has fancy money. Probably here for a fancy vacation before returning to his fancy life.”

Autumn elbowed him. “You said ‘fancy’ four times.”

“Because it’s true. Guys like that don’t stay in places like Maplewood, Auti. They visit, they find it ‘quaint’ and ‘charming,’ and then they leave.”

There was something odd in Owen’s voice—not quite bitter, but close. Autumn studied his profile as they walked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” His smile was back, bright and reassuring. “Just looking out for you. That’s what best friends do. Speaking of which, how’s the novel coming?”

She let him change the subject, launching into a detailed description of her current plot problems, but part of her mind stayed back at the café, thinking about gray eyes and almost-smiles and the way a stranger said her name like it meant something.

Behind them, through the café window, Eli watched them walk away, Owen’s arm still draped casually around Autumn’s shoulders. He noticed the easy way they moved together, the comfortable familiarity, the way she laughed at something Owen said.

He turned back to his laptop, to the emails from his mother demanding updates, from the board requesting his presence at the next meeting, from his entire life pulling him back to New York.

But for the first time in months, he found himself not wanting to answer them. He found himself wanting to stay right here, in this small café that smelled like cinnamon and coffee, in this quiet town where a girl with kind eyes rambled when she was nervous and brought turnovers to strangers.

Eli closed his laptop with a decisive click.

Maybe he’d stay a little longer.

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