Page 19 of Defensive Desire

Fifteen years of proving herself, becoming a small towninstitution…rather than just a business.

I wonder if my mother would ever look at Chapter & Grind that way. As something permanent, something worthy.

Or if I'll always be the daughter playing pretend in her eyes.

Clara wipes her hands on a white cloth and looks back to me.

"Well, I'm glad you like the tart. And good luck in the Icehawks promo. That space inside the arena… That's the hottest piece of real estate in town right now."

My heart skips a beat.

Of course, she's right. It'sprimereal estate for business owners like us. Low overheads. A captive audience. Hockey fans with disposable income and caffeine needs.

"Are you vying for the shop too?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual while my mind races with possibilities.

Clara's smile shifts slightly, a shadow crossing her features.

"Actually, no. I'm not in the running this time." She adjusts a display of chocolate croissants that already looks perfect. "I've got some other... things I'm thinking about right now. The timing is just... off."

Something in her tone makes me pause. Clara's been a fixture in Iron Ridge since I was in high school. For her to pass up an opportunity like this—

"Everything okay?" I ask, lowering my voice.

Clara shrugs, but there's a tightness around her eyes. "Just life stuff, you know? Fifteen years is a long time to do anything. Let's just say I'm… watching this space."

I nod, not entirely sure what to say.

The idea of Clara not being behind the counter at Summit, greeting everyone by name and remembering their orders, seems impossible. Like someone suggesting the mountains might decide to relocate.

"Anyway," she continues, brightening with what seems like deliberate effort, "it's good to see some fresh energy in the competition. Your coffee is exceptional, Emma. I've been meaning to tell you that."

I blink in surprise. "You've tried it?"

"Of course. That 'Hat Trick' blend you did for the charity game? Half my regulars came in talking about it the next day." She gives me a wink. "Nothing like a bit of competition, right?"

A warm flutter of pride blooms in my chest.

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than she could know. "That means a lot coming from you."

I retreat to my booth, the weight of her words settling over me like fog.

Walking back, I can't shake the feeling that Clara's quietly… sizing me up? Not maliciously, but warily. Like she's trying to figure out if I'm a threat to the established order of Iron Ridge's coffee scene.

Get a grip, Emma. This isn't about Clara. This is about you and your imposter syndrome.

As I settled back into setting up, I'm rearranging my muffins for the third time when everything suddenly feels easier.

"Can't let you drop those."

The deep voice behind me makes me jump, and I spin around to find Logan approaching in a black long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows, looking effortlessly rugged in that way that should be illegal before 9 AM.

Without waiting for permission, he lifts the heavy tray of samples from my hands.

"Logan, I can handle—"

"I know you can." His blue eyes meet mine, intense and searching. "Doesn't mean you should have to."

He sets the tray down carefully, then studies my face.