Page 18 of Defensive Desire

I look up to see Mia Harper jogging toward me, her cheeks flushed from the chase. She's wearing a cheerful yellow sweater that makes her look like a walking ray of sunshine, her chestnut hair bouncing in a high ponytail.

"Beans here has zero impulse control," she says, successfully redirecting the dog away from my baked goods. "He smelled cinnamon from three booths away."

"Beans?" I grin as the little dog looks up with bright, mischievous eyes. "Perfect name for this cutie."

Mia's face lights up. "Right? I'm fostering him from the animal shelter. He's going to be in the Pet Parade later... assuming he doesn't eat someone's booth first."

Beans chooses that moment to sit perfectly, tilting his head like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. The little charmer.

We chat as I set up my booth, Mia helping steady my table while I arrange the samples. She mentions she's been partnered with Ryder for the community program, and the way she blushes when she says his name makes my heart squeeze with something that might be envy.

"So you and Logan Kane paired together, huh?" she says with a smile, testing my coffee as steam spirals from it in the cool air. "Everyone's talking about that commercial that's been on TV all week. Babe, that chemistry was... intense."

My cheeks heat. "We're just business partners. For the program."

Mia gives me that look that says she's not buying it, but mercifully changes the subject about the Pet Parade.

When she leaves with Beans, I arrange my branded cups and samples, stepping back to admire my setup. The forest green and cream Chapter & Grind branding pops against the rustic brewery backdrop.

Then I glance over at Summit Café's booth, and my confidence dies.

Holy shit.

Summit Café's setup is gorgeous. Pastries arranged in perfect rows that would make a window display envious. A huge branded banner that screams "established" and "professional." Vintage cups that probably cost more than my entire display.

I watch Sophia strut away from Clara's booth, coffee cup balanced between manicured fingers, her tablet and clipboard clutched against her chest like weapons of mass critique.

My stomach plummets.

I never wanted this to feel like competition, but suddenly I feel completely out of my league. Like showing up to a black-tie event in jeans.

Forcing myself to walk over, I plaster on my brightest smile.

"Hi, Clara! Your setup looks amazing."

Clara glances up from arranging what appears to be tiny works of art disguised as pastries. She's dressed impeccably in a cream cashmere sweater and dark slacks, not a hair out of place.

"Oh, hello Emma. Getting ready for the big day?" she says, smiling.

"Yeah, well... trying to." I gesture vaguely at my booth. "Your pastries are incredible. Are those lemon tarts?"

A hint of pride softens her expression. "Yeah. Family recipe. Summit Café's been a staple of Iron Ridge for fifteen years. People expect a certain standard, you know? I'm always nervous we won't live up to it."

She offers me a tiny lemon tart that looks like it belongs in a Parisian bakery window. I bite into it, and the explosion of buttery crust and bright citrus makes my knees weak.

"This is incredible," I groan, loving the intensity of the flavor. "Fifteen years is impressive. I really admire your work."

Clara's smile transforms her face.

It's the smile that's made Summit Café a second home to half of Iron Ridge, the kind that makes customers feel like family instead of just wallets with legs.

As she turns to greet another vendor, I wonder if I'll ever achieve what she has. Not just success… but that confidence. That certainty of belonging.

Mom's voice echoes in my head:"Playing coffee shop is cute, Emma, but it's not a real career. It's risky."

Even when Chapter & Grind started turning a profit, she'd ask when I was going to "get serious" and find a "proper job with benefits." The day I showed her my business plan for wholesale distribution one day, she'd skimmed it and asked if I'd considered going back to school.

I watch Clara chat easily with everyone who passes, her presence as comforting as the café she's built just across the road from mine.