help her reach any important decisions, but it was guaranteed to clear her mind of static and calm her.
And maybe, as she dipped and smoothed and rolled, a few of the elusive answers she’d been seeking would come to her.
It couldn’t hurt to add prayer to the mix either.
After all, where better for an appeal for divine guidance to produce results than in a town named Hope Harbor?
“You sure you don’t mind closing up alone today?” Zach handed Frank the bag of coffee a waiting customer wanted ground.
“Not at all. We’re in the home stretch, and the last couple of hours on Mondays are always quiet, as I recall from last time I switched shifts with Bren. You hear from your aunt yet?”
“No.” Zach checked his watch. “She was supposed to call from North Bend after the flight from San Francisco landed, before she drove down. That should have been an hour and a half ago.”
“She could have been delayed in San Francisco. The fog can wreak havoc with airline schedules.”
“Yeah—and I’ve been too busy to get an update on her flight status.” He pulled out his cell. “If you could handle the customers for a few minutes, I’ll—”
The door opened, and Aunt Stephanie swept in, beaming a smile his direction as she held out her arms. “My favorite nephew!”
Grinning, he returned the phone to his pocket, circled the counter, and pulled her into a hug. “My favorite aunt.”
“Also your only one—but let’s not quibble over details.” She returned his squeeze, then eased back to give him an assessing scan—and an approving nod. “Your new life agrees with you.”
“Yes, it does. And retirement agrees with you.” He gave her a once-over too. His aunt had always been trim and fashionable, and that hadn’t changed. Though dressed casually in form-fitting jeans and a wrap top, she exuded class and sophistication—along with her usual energy and enthusiasm. “Welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
“Why didn’t you call from the airport?”
“I decided it would be more fun to surprise you at your shop.” She gave the space an appreciative sweep. “I like this. It’s cozy and welcoming.”
“That’s what I was after. As long as you’re here, why don’t you sit for a few minutes and have a drink and a snack—unless you’re too tired from the trip.”
She waved his comment aside. “I’m used to traveling across multiple time zones in a day. Try flying from New York to Tokyo if you want to see jet lag. Atlanta to Oregon is a piece of cake. Food and drink would be most welcome after the cross-country airline fare—or should I say, lack of fare?”
“I feature snacks and desserts here, so a hearty meal will have to wait. But see if anything in the case tickles your fancy.” He led her over to the glass display unit.
She leaned closer to peruse the offerings. “Mmm. My taste buds are already tingling. Tell me about everything.”
“The packaged snacks are fair-trade sourced.” He indicated the selection. “Everything else is local. Cranberry nut cake and scones from Harbor Point Cranberries, lavender shortbread from Bayview Lavender Farm and Tearoom, and Eleanor Cooper’s famous fudge cake. She’s ninety-three, bakes the cakes for me in the Grace Christian Church fellowship hall kitchen, and donates all the proceeds to Helping Hands, a local charity sponsored by our two churches.”
Stephanie straightened up. “Fudge cake, no contest. I can’t resist chocolate—or the opportunity to support a worthwhile cause. The other offerings sound yummy too, though. I’ll have to sample them all while I’m here.”
“That can be arranged. What would you like to drink?”
“Do you have a house specialty—or a customer favorite?”
“The café viennois is popular. And we also have café de olla. You won’t find either at any of the popular chains. The viennois is—”
She held up a hand. “From France—light espresso, whipped cream, and chocolate powder. The Mexican coffee is made with cinnamon and piloncillo—that would be raw dark sugar for the uninitiated.”
“The lady knows her coffee.” Frank joined them and offered Stephanie a smile.
A dimple appeared in her cheek. “As a coffee lover, I’ve tried brews all over the world. After decades of sipping from Rio to Rome to Riyadh, I’ve become somewhat of an aficionado.” She extended her hand. “Stephanie Garrett.”
“Frank Simmons. I’m one of the baristas here.” The man gave his palm a quick swipe on his jeans and held it out. “A pleasure.”
“Likewise.”
The clasp lasted a bit longer than protocol demanded, and Zach inspected them.