Page 5

CHAPTER 5

CASPIAN

Standing in front of Special Blend with the keys in my hand, I take a deep breath. Mom always said I’d find my path, and here I am, about to transform this empty space into something wholly mine.

My coffee shop.

Just thinking those words sends a wave of excitement and nerves through my chest, making my heart dance a little faster. I unlock the door, and for the second time, I stand there, soaking in the significance of what I’m about to begin.

I pull out my phone and put on my cleaning playlist—upbeat indie pop that always gets me moving. As Maggie Rogers fills the empty space, I flip switches, checking that everything powers up properly. The dishwasher rumbles to life, and I gather the mugs beside the coffee maker. They look clean enough, but I want to start fresh, want everything to sparkle. I load them carefully into the rack, satisfied when I hear the first swoosh of water.

Only then do I turn my attention to the coffee maker, running my fingers along its chrome surface. It’s an older model, but solid—the kind that could tell stories if it could talk. “Don’t worry,” I whisper to it, “you’ll have a fancy new friend soon.” I grab my cleaning supplies, ready to give this beautiful piece of equipment the attention it deserves.

The machine needs love, that’s for sure. I start with a thorough inspection, noting the places where coffee oils have created a stubborn patina. Using a specialized cleaner, I begin the meticulous process of breaking down years of residue. My movements fall into a rhythm—spray, scrub, wipe, repeat—as I work through every nook and cranny. The satisfying transformation from grimy to gleaming makes me smile. Under my careful attention, the machine’s true character begins to emerge. Subtle scratches that speak of years of service, but also an underlying sturdiness that promises many more to come.

With the coffee maker sparkling clean, I reach for the bag of beans I brought with me. My signature house blend that took months to perfect. The rich aroma hits me as I pour them into the grinder and the familiar whirring sound fills the empty shop.

The scent of freshly ground coffee wraps around me like a warm hug, and I close my eyes, breathing it in deeply. I can already picture it: the early morning rush, sleepy-eyed customers stumbling in for their daily fix, the bell above the door chiming a cheerful welcome. The thought makes my heart swell with anticipation.

A knock at the door startles me from my coffee-scented daydream. Through the glass, I spot a woman with blonde hair and brown eyes bundled in a colorful scarf. When I open the door, she practically bounces inside.

“You must be Caspian! I’m Olivia Hayworth—I own The Wild Palette, the craft store and gallery next door.” She speaks with an enthusiasm that makes you want to match it. “When are you opening? What kind of coffee will you serve? Do you need any help with decorations? I have so many ideas!”

“Whoa.” I laugh, holding up my hands. “How about I make you a latte first?”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, you’re already serving?”

“Not officially,” I say, moving behind the counter. “But I never turn down the chance to make someone their first Caspian Special Blend coffee.”

I work the machine with practiced ease, the familiar motions grounding me as I steam the milk to a perfect microfoam.

“So,” I say as I focus on the milk, “how did you know my name?”

Olivia laughs warmly. “Word travels fast in a small town. Everyone’s been wondering about the guy taking over from Old Mac, whose special blend wasn’t exactly…special. Besides, we don’t get many newcomers in Maplewood, especially ones opening businesses.”

When I hand her the cup, decorated with a simple heart in the foam, she takes an appreciative sip.

“This is fantastic,” she says, cradling the cup. “We’ve needed someone with your skills in Maplewood.”

“Thank you.” I beam at her. “I hope to open officially in about two weeks, once I finish cleaning and get all my supplies in.”

“Perfect timing!” Olivia exclaims. “That’s right before the Winter Wishes Festival. You absolutely have to participate—it’s the biggest event of the season and it’s right across from us in the city park.”

“Oh, Rae mentioned the Winter Wishes Festival, but I’d love to hear more about it. What happens during it?”

Olivia leans forward, her eyes sparkling. “It’s absolutely magical. We have these incredible local artists who create the most beautiful ice sculptures—when the sun hits them just right, the whole street glitters!”

“Ice sculptures? Really?” I can’t help but match her enthusiasm.

“That’s just the beginning! You should see the families during the snowman-building contest. The park fills with laughter—everyone’s so competitive about it, but in the best way.” She gestures expansively. “And we’ve got sledding, ice skating at the lake… Oh! And all the amazing food from local suppliers.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Just wait until nighttime,” Olivia continues. “The whole park lights up with these gorgeous twinkle lights, and there’s live music everywhere. People gather around bonfires to roast marshmallows and tell stories.” She pauses, her voice softening. “But the best part? The Wishing Tree.”

“The Wishing Tree?”

“Everyone in town writes their wish and puts them inside a decoration. Then, they hang their wishes for the new year on this beautiful tree. And here’s the thing”—she leans in conspiratorially—“those wishes? They have a way of coming true throughout the year. There’s just something…special about it.”

“Like magic?” I ask, caught up in her storytelling.

“Exactly like magic.” She nods. “Trust me, Caspian, you’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s like stepping into a winter fairy tale. And it all happens right outside our front door.”

“Wow.”

“I can talk to Bo from the community development office to see if they still have any vacant spots for a coffee stand,” she says. “He handles all the permits and arrangements for festival vendors. He’s a sweetheart and can help get everything sorted out for you. Nothing better than a hot coffee on a cold winter night. Plus, it would be a great way to introduce yourself to everyone.”

“That would be amazing,” I say, already imagining the setup. “I was worried about how to get the word out.”

“You know what else you could do?” Olivia takes another sip of her latte. “Open for a few hours each morning before your official opening. Let people get a taste of what’s coming. Word of mouth is everything in Maplewood.”

The suggestion hits me like a bolt of inspiration. “Like a soft opening?”

“Exactly! And trust me, once people try your coffee, they’ll be counting down the days until you’re fully open.”

I smile. “That’s such a great idea.”

“So,” Olivia says with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, “did you move to Maplewood on your own?”

“Yeah.” I nod, wiping my hands on a cloth. “My mom grew up here, but this is my first time in town. I don’t really know anyone yet.”

“Well, now you know me,” Olivia says with a warm smile. “And before long, you’ll have a line of customers out the door.” She winks. “And who knows? Maybe someone special might catch your eye.”

I think of Nate, my neighbor with those oddly-familiar warm ocean-blue eyes that contrast so beautifully with his slightly grumpy demeanor, and feel my cheeks heat. Olivia’s grin widens, but she mercifully doesn’t comment.

“Welcome to Maplewood, Caspian. I think you’re going to fit in perfectly here.”

After she leaves, I attack the cleaning with renewed vigor, my mind racing with possibilities. The festival, the soft opening, the chance to become part of this community—it all feels right in a way I haven’t experienced since Mom passed.

Before I’m done for the day I get another visit, this time from Ever, who owns The Honey Spot next door. He tells me he sells honey and bee-related products.

When I finally lock up for the day, the winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across Maple Street. I’m on a high from meeting new people and my muscles ache from scrubbing, but it’s the good kind of tiredness that comes from progress. Tomorrow, I’ll start planning that soft opening. Maybe I’ll see if Nate wants to stop by for a test cup.

I smile at the thought as I head to my car, then pause mid-step. Maybe what Nate needs isn’t just coffee but something sweeter. Mom always said the quickest way to anyone’s heart was through their stomach, and her blueberry muffin recipe never failed to win people over. Plus, baking always helps me think, and I’ve got plenty to plan for the soft opening.

I get in the car, heading toward the grocery store instead. I can pick up ingredients for the muffins and place orders for everything I’ll need for Special Blend’s debut. The keys jingle in my pocket as I walk, and I can’t help but grin, imagining Nate’s grumpy exterior melting away at the first bite of those delicious muffins. Sometimes, the best promises come wrapped in paper liners and topped with sweet lemon drizzle—my own improvement to Mom’s recipe.