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Chapter Five

Emma

Ugh.

Today's the Iron Ridge Fire Department Charity Festival, where each Icehawks partnership will showcase their collaboration for the first time.

It's another opportunity to gain prime consideration for the arena café space. Basically, a live action chance to prove we can handle the demands of Iron Ridge locals with our very own stall.

I groan and roll over in my tiny but cozy little cove above Chapter & Grind, nearly falling off my bed in the process.

The space is a chaotic mix of mismatched furniture I've collected from garage sales, lush green plants growing in every available spot, including the hanging ones that Logan swears will kill me one day, and bookshelves so overstuffed they look ready to collapse under the weight of my slightly unhealthy hoarding habit.

It's cramped, cluttered, and completely mine.

Stumbling to the kitchen, I flick on the little TV in the corner while the coffee brews—the good stuff, obviously, because it's early. Too early.

The local Iron Ridge channel displays a commercial, and my stomach drops when I hear that familiar deep voice talking about "rich, smooth flavor... with just a little kick at the end."

Oh God.

Logan's voice from our promotional video floods my tiny rooftop apartment, and my cheeks flush immediately.

I remember exactly how that voice affected me during filming. My nerves have been wound tight since that promo shoot made me realize just how much trouble I'm in with a certain six-foot-five defenseman.

How it made me think about things that had absolutely nothing to do with coffee. How it made me want to climb him like a tree right there in front of the cameras.

I've barely slept all week because I keep replaying that moment when his voice turned my insides to jelly. The way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. The heat in his eyes when he called our coffee "bold" and "unforgettable."

Jesus, Emma. Get it together.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, I wince. Bags under my eyes, hair sticking up at impossible angles, skin that's seen better days.

Fantastic.

Just what I need when I'll be standing as the face of my brand all day in front of the entire town.

I throw on my favorite jeans and a soft knit sweater in forest green that should go with the whole Icehawks theme I'm bringing to this promo.

I slip on the boots that are comfortable but cute, perfect for a day spent on my feet at the local brewery where the event is being hosted.

As I load my car with supplies—coffee samples, homemade cinnamon muffins I stress-baked at midnight, branded cups, and my folding table—I can't help but wonder if Logan's been thinking about the filming too.

Or if I'm completely reading into everything and building castles in the air like I always do.

He's been busy with practice all week, only dropping by briefly yesterday to talk logistics about today's event. It was… professional . Distant. Nothing like the man who's made himself impossibly helpful around my shop for the past two months.

Maybe that was just good acting?

I take a deep breath of crisp Iron Ridge morning air, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The mountains loom majestically around us, snow dusting their peaks like powdered sugar on a latte.

You've got this, Emma. It's just a charity event. Where you're competing for your future. With Logan Kane. Who makes you forget how to breathe.

Yeah. I'm totally fine.

***

Iron Ridge Brewery sits at the edge of town like a rustic fortress, its weathered wood siding and large windows offering glimpses of gleaming copper fermentation tanks inside.

By the time I arrive, the parking lot is already buzzing with volunteers setting up for the annual charity festival that benefits both the fire department and various town projects.

Red and white balloons mark the entrance, and I can see Icehawks partnerships scattered throughout the booths, each trying to make their mark for judges who'll be walking around all day.

I haul my cart from the car, immediately regretting my decision to pack everything at once.

The damn thing has a wobbly wheel that keeps veering left like it's trying to escape, and I'm doing this awkward dance trying to keep my muffins from sliding off the top as I hit every bump imaginable.

"Come on, you piece of—" I mutter.

Then, just as I gain control of the stupid cart, a scruffy little dog with mismatched ears and the energy of a caffeinated toddler makes a beeline straight for my tray of muffins.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!"

A bright voice calls out as someone tugs on the dog's leash.

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.

Fifteen years of proving herself, becoming a small town institution… 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's prime real 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—