Page 82 of Library or Lattes?

“Oh, there’s Jo.” Theo nodded toward the door of the library, where Jo was waiting.

“I better go and do this. But there’s one thing,” I said. I bit my lip.

“What’s that?”

“I haven’t gotten in yet,” I said in a small voice.

“You will, because you’re amazing, Doc. And I’ll be right here when you get out.”

I inhaled his words, filling my heart, my mind, my soul with that confidence.

Jo welcomed me with a smile far warmer than the fall-turning-to-winter air.

And I walked through the door to the start of my new journey.

10 Lattes

THE COFFEE SHOP WAS THRIVING. James’s new accounting system was working; we knew exactly what we were selling, what was profitable and what wasn’t. And the seasonal specials I’d suggested (gingerbread cocoa, maple pecan muffins, pumpkin spice everything) were flying off the shelves. For the first time since Geoff broke his leg, the books were actually in the black. Occasionally—very occasionally—I even heard James say that something was on the house. I guess his dad had been there inside him all along.

And we even had some new regulars. Alfie Carmichael’s brother, Theo, who’d moved to town late summer, came in most mornings, ordered black coffee, and hunched over a sketchbook full of buildings. Jo told me he was studying architecture and staying with his brother for the foreseeable future.

Geoff and Lana would come in every Friday morning to see how things were going. Geoff’s leg was healing, but slowly, so he was still in the cast. Every week, without fail, he’d tap it and say, “When I get this thing off, we’ll need to talk about making you two official partners. You’ve done such a great job.” Lana always made a point of hugging me and whispering, “You’re so good for him,” when James wasn’t looking.

November was a blur. A happy, perfect, warm and cozy blur. James and I were practically inseparable. We met up every morning at the coffee shop, before opening, and James would always be there waiting at our table with a gingerbread cocoa ready in my mug. We watched the fireworks together on Bonfire Night, standing so close I could feel his heartbeat.

But my favorite time of all was after closing. When everyone went home and the streets were empty. That was when we went into the tiny house.

Tonight, James opened the door and I inhaled the now familiar smell of wood cuttings and his musky aftershave.

“Did you see the new shelves I put up?” he asked me. “I wanted somewhere to put a couple of special things I found.” He pointed opposite, where he’d placed a baseball on a little stand next to a photo—the one of us from the booth at Harvest Festival. I’d forgotten all about it.

I stood and walked over to the wall, running my finger across a shelf. “Hmm. Level. Sturdy. Good use of space.” Pop would be very impressed.

“Why, thank you.” James was sitting on the sofa now, hands behind his head, chest puffed out. Proud.

He got up and stood close to me as I picked up the photo, which perfectly captured our spontaneous moment of joy. We looked so happy then. I was so happy now. I squeezed his arm.

I picked up the baseball next. “But some of this décor is questionable …” I threw the ball in the air before catching it again.

My eyes found his as I held it up between us. “I mean, one random baseball? Kind of basic, don’t you think?”

James crossed his arms and scowled. “That’s not just any baseball.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, fighting a smile. I pretended to examine it. “Looks pretty ordinary to me.”

He took the ball from me, threw it onto the sofa, then lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and looked down at him. “Red. You know exactly what that is.”

I did. Of course I did. From that day at the Kissing Tree. My very first kiss.

He grinned before finding my mouth. Then he carried me into the section of the tiny house that was now his bedroom.

He laid me down on his bed and I breathed it all in. The sheets that smelled like laundry soap and James’s skin. I wanted to bathe in that scent so he’d never be far away.

I watched him undress and wondered, briefly, how April could have let this beautiful man get away.

He leaned over me, and I gripped his now bare biceps. I reached to the back of his head, pulling him close to me, desperate for another kiss, as if it hadn’t been just seconds since the last. But he went past my mouth and planted tiny kisses down my neck, making me groan with longing.

He took his time taking off my clothes. I loved that about him, that he did things properly. Deliberately. Tracing the hem of my sweater before peeling it over my head, his eyes never leaving mine.