Page 6

CHAPTER 6

CASPIAN

The mid-morning sun streams through my kitchen window as I line up ingredients on the counter. Flour, sugar, eggs, and what feels like a hundred other things I’ve gathered for what I’m determined will be the perfect batch of muffins. Mom would laugh if she could see me now, a lifetime away from when I somehow managed to turn her kitchen into a winter wonderland of powdered sugar because I wanted to bake for her.

“Not this time,” I mutter, tying on the bright-yellow apron Mom got me as a joke. It has Hot Stuff Coming Through emblazoned across the chest in red sequins. “These muffins are going to be amazing.”

Three hours and two failed attempts later, I’m staring at a batch of slightly lopsided blueberry muffins. They’re…well, they’re certainly something. The tops haven’t risen quite right, creating odd little peaks that make them look more like modern art than a breakfast baked good.

“Nothing that more icing can’t fix,” I declare to the empty kitchen, reaching for the powdered sugar and the lemon juice. I saw in a cooking show from Europe once that sometimes they add lemon drizzle and after I tried it, I was converted. Mom always said my optimism was my superpower. Though even she might raise an eyebrow at the amount of icing I’m currently slathering on these muffins.

As I work, my mind drifts to Nate. Tall, gorgeous Nate with his quiet intensity and those blue eyes that remind me of the winter sky. And Addy—I really want to get to know them both better. Maybe by summer, I’ll be hosting cookouts in my backyard, with fairy lights strung up and music playing while friends chat and laugh…

I catch myself daydreaming and focus back on the task at hand. The muffins are as good as they’re going to get, which isn’t saying much. But they’re made with good intentions, which counts for something, right?

Balancing the muffin tray carefully, I head next door. My heart’s doing this weird flutter thing that has nothing to do with the three cups of coffee I’ve already had today. “Just be normal,” I whisper, then immediately question if talking to myself outside someone’s door qualifies as normal behavior. Taking a deep breath, I knock on Nate’s door.

The wait feels eternal, though it’s probably only seconds. I hear footsteps approaching, and then Nate’s there, filling the doorway in a flannel shirt that makes his eyes look even bluer, if that’s possible. He seems surprised to see me, eyebrows lifting slightly.

“Good afternoon!” I beam, holding up the muffin tray like an offering. “I thought I’d bring over some welcome-to-being-neighbors muffins. Or welcome-me-to-being-your-neighbor muffins? I’m not sure which way that’s supposed to work, actually.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Nate’s mouth. “That’s…unexpected. Thank you.” He steps back, opening the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

I follow him inside, trying not to be too obvious as I look around. His place has the same layout as mine, but where my walls are still bare, his are decorated with what looks like hand-carved wooden pieces.

“Did you make these?” I ask, gesturing to the wall art while carefully setting the muffin tray on his kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” Nate answers, running a hand through his hair in what seems like an unconscious gesture. “It’s a hobby.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say sincerely, watching as he picks up one of my decidedly less beautiful muffins. “Though maybe don’t judge my baking skills too harshly? I’m better at coffee than baking, I promise.”

Nate takes a bite, and I can see the moment he tastes the ridiculous amount of icing I used to compensate for…everything else. His eyes widen slightly, but he manages to swallow without grimacing. “It’s…sweet.”

“That’s a very diplomatic way of saying they’re terrible.” I laugh, feeling my cheeks heat. “Sorry. I really wanted to make something nice, but baking and I have a complicated relationship.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Nate says, and there’s that small smile again. “So, what brings you to Maplewood?”

My face lights up at the question. “Oh! I’m actually reopening Special Blend, the coffee shop on Maple Street? I’m hoping to have it up and running soon. There’s still so much to do—the whole place needs a deep clean, and I’m waiting on some equipment deliveries, but…” I pause, realizing I’m probably talking too fast. “Sorry, I tend to get excited about it.”

“Don’t apologize,” Nate says, leaning against the counter. “The town’s missed having Special Blend. Especially during the winter.”

“Really?” I perk up even more if that’s possible. “Did you use to go there a lot?”

“Sometimes.” He nods, then adds with a hint of amusement, “Though I make decent coffee at home.”

“Decent coffee?” I gasp in mock horror. “Oh no, no, no. You haven’t had coffee until you’ve had my special maple latte. It’ll change your life.”

“That’s a bold claim,” Nate says, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re pretty confident in your coffee-making abilities.”

“Please.” I wave my hand dramatically. “I could make you the perfect cup with my eyes closed. Though I probably shouldn’t, since it’d be a shame not to look at—” I catch myself before I finish that thought. “At the, uh, proper measurements. Can’t mess up the coffee-to-milk ratio.”

Nate’s lips quirk at my fumble, and is that a slight blush I see? “Well, maybe I’ll have to stop by and put your skills to the test.”

“So, what do you do for work?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I spotted you heading out early this morning in what looked like outdoor gear. Not that I was spying or anything. I just happened to look out the window—” I stop my word vomit. The last thing I need is Nate thinking I’m the weird neighbor no one wants.

Nate’s whole demeanor shifts subtly as he talks about his work. “I’m a forest product technician. Right now, I’m focused on winter assessments—checking forest health, marking trees for sustainable harvesting. The frozen ground actually makes it ideal for certain operations.” He pauses, then elaborates, “I evaluate which trees can be harvested while maintaining the forest’s health. It’s about balance—ensuring we’re not taking too much and that the ecosystem stays intact. I also work with local timber companies, monitor wildlife habitats, and manage forest resources. During winter, we can get more done because the frozen ground prevents damage to the soil and tree roots when we need to bring in equipment.”

“That sounds fascinating,” I say, and I mean it. “Though I have to ask—do you rescue all the wood pieces you use for your art from the forest? Because these are incredible.” I gesture again to the wall pieces, drawn to their intricate patterns.

“I rescue the ones I can. There’s only so much I can store here,” he says. “It’s about seeing potential in things others might overlook.”

“Could you tell me more about it?” I ask, genuinely fascinated. “Like, how do you decide which pieces to rescue? And how do you turn them into”—I gesture at the intricate wall art—“these beautiful things?”

Nate’s expression softens, and I notice how his whole body relaxes when he talks about his craft. “Sometimes, I’ll find a piece that’s fallen during a storm or spot something interesting while doing my assessments. The wood tells you what it wants to be if you listen. This one”—he points to a particularly striking piece with swirling patterns—“was from an old maple that came down last winter. The grain was too beautiful to let it go to waste.”

I’m struck by the gentle way he talks about his work, this big, strong man speaking about wood like it’s precious. It makes something flutter in my chest that I definitely shouldn’t be paying attention to.

There’s something in the way he says it that makes my heart do a little flip. I clear my throat and change the subject. “Are you going to the Winter Wishes Festival? Everyone I’ve met so far has been talking about it.”

Nate’s expression turns slightly resigned. “Maplewood loves its festivals. There’s one for every season, holiday, and day ending in Y .”

“But that’s wonderful!” I exclaim. “It means there’s always something to look forward to!” I continue excitedly. “And winter festivals have all the ingredients to be the best—all the twinkling lights reflecting off the snow, hot chocolate, roasted chestnuts…I mean, not that I’ve ever been to one…” I trail off as I notice Nate’s expression. “You’re not a festival person, are you?”

He shrugs, those broad shoulders moving under his flannel shirt. “I prefer quieter activities.”

“Like rescuing wood and turning it into art?” I ask, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.

“Something like that,” he says softly, and there’s that hint of a smile again that makes my stomach do somersaults.

I glance at my phone and realize I’ve been here longer than planned. “I should probably get going. Got a coffee shop to whip into shape.” I head toward the door, then turn back. “Thanks for being so nice about the muffins. Next time, I’ll stick to what I’m good at and bring coffee instead.”

“Next time?” Nate asks, and I can’t quite read his expression.

“Well, yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual even as my heart races. “That’s what neighbors do, right? They bring each other things and…neighbor?”

Nate’s quiet chuckle makes me feel warm all over. “I guess they do.”

Walking back to my place, I can’t stop smiling, even though I know I should probably rein in these feelings. For all I know, Nate’s straight—Addy seemed pretty familiar with him—and even if he isn’t, I’ve got enough on my plate with opening the coffee shop. But as I look back at his house, I can’t help thinking that maybe Maplewood has more in store for me than just a fresh start.

Still, I’ve got a coffee shop to focus on. And if I happen to make extra-special drinks when a certain tall and handsome forest product technician stops by… Well, that’s just good customer service, right?