Silver Linings (Collier’s Creek Christmas)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Cam

I’m at the coffee shop after a week that’s been so much better than the last. We have the place to ourselves after closing early, but it’s not a chore to stay back with Greg keeping me company. I lean against the counter watching him pore over the list of potential new Christmas drinks for CC’s menu. The late afternoon sun streams through the large front windows, casting a soft glow across his golden curls. I could stand here and stare at him for hours.

“What do you think about the gingerbread maple latte?” he asks, looking up, blue eyes sparkling. “We could top it with whipped cream, a dash of nutmeg, or even some maple drizzle.”

I smile at his excitement. “That sounds awesome. Festive and delicious. We could also try the salted caramel mocha—chocolate, caramel, a pinch of sea salt. Decadent but not too sweet.”

“Yes!” Greg grins like a kid who can’t wait to get a treat. “Let’s try the gingerbread one first, though. I can almost taste it already.”

I chuckle and push off the counter. “One gingerbread maple latte, coming right up. Want to put on some Christmas tunes to really get us in the spirit?”

He scrolls through a playlist on his phone, and soon the first notes of “Jingle Bells” fill the space as I get to work. I grind the beans, tamp the espresso, and steam the milk until it’s velvety smooth. Greg chooses a tall footed glass with a handle. I pour the shots of espresso into the glass, stirring in ground ginger, nutmeg, allspice, and adding a dash of maple syrup, before topping off with the frothed milk. I finish the whole thing off with a generous swirl of whipped cream, a drizzle of syrup, and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Alright, taste test time!” I slide it across to Greg with a flourish. “One gingerbread latte, as requested by my handsome husband.”

He lifts the mug, inhaling deeply. “Smells like Christmas morning.” He smiles before taking a careful sip. “Yum. Tastes like Christmas too. See what you think.” He pushes the drink toward me.

The latte is warm and soothing, the sweetness balanced by the bite of the spices and the rich bitterness of the espresso. He’s right—it tastes perfect for the festive season. “I think we have a winner,” I say, and Greg hums in agreement.

With the gingerbread latte perfected, I turn my attention to the next drink on our list. “Okay, babe, time for the salted caramel mocha. Can you grab the caramel syrup?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” He salutes and reaches for the bottle, placing it on the counter with a dramatic flourish.

I roll my eyes at his terrible pirate accent, chuckling as I measure out the syrup.

He cranks up the volume on his phone, as the song changes to the more upbeat “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” He winks and shimmies towards me. “Come on, babe,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the espresso machine.

I grin and shake my head but let him twirl me into a silly dance. His exaggerated dance moves make me laugh out loud. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he shoots back, bumping his hip against mine.

I do love it—love him , love his spontaneity and the way he makes even the most mundane tasks fun. He encourages me to let my hair down and puts a smile on my face, even if I’m out of my comfort zone now and then. It’s one of the things that makes our relationship—makes him—special.

When the song ends, I reluctantly detangle myself from his arms. “Okay, okay, back to work. This drink won’t make itself.”

A short while later Greg peers over my shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, that smells divine. Like a grown-up version of hot chocolate. Very sophisticated.”

I nod, warming at his appreciation.

“Although, I think they need a final garnish for some extra Christmas pizzazz. What do you think about topping the gingerbread one off with a little tiny gingerbread man? I’m not sure about the other one.”

“I have an idea.” I crouch and rummage under the counter, rising with a jar of chocolate candy buttons and a jar of silver candy balls, and toss a few of each on top of the whipped cream. The tiny balls gleam under the lights. “Ta da.”

“The perfect festive touch,” Greg says.

I laugh as I admire the creation. “It’s almost too pretty to drink.”

We take turns sipping the mocha, savoring the interplay of sweet and salty. “The salt really brings out the flavors. It’s all about balance.”

“I can’t wait to see the looks on the customers’ faces when they try these,” Greg says. “You’re going to make their holiday season extra special.”

I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Thanks for your help today. We make a pretty great team, don’t we?”

“The best,” he agrees, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.

“So we agree? They both make the list?” I ask, taking a step back.

“Absolutely. Hey, babe,” Greg says, his face lighting up. “We should make a special Christmas drink for the kids too. Like a Christmassy babyccino or something.”

“That’s a fantastic idea! Frothed milk, but we could top it with raspberry syrup, mini marshmallows, and a dusting of coconut for snow. Maybe even add a little candy cane on the side.”

“Can you imagine how much the kids will love it?” Greg says, his smile soft and dreamy. “That’s what it’s all about—special moments for the kids. I’ll have to bring Madi’s kids in to try one. Maybe Georgia can bring along her nieces and we can make a party of it?”

I smile at his idea. I can picture it perfectly, Greg surrounded by his nieces and nephew, making sure they have a good time and are spoiled rotten, and the thought makes me happy.

“We’ll have to come up with a name for the drink.” I’m already running through possibilities in my head. “Something that captures the magic of Christmas, something that will appeal to the kids.”

“Something fun. How about Rudolph’s Red-Nose Delight,” he suggests, then snickers. “Oops—or maybe not—the raspberry syrup will look like Rudolph snot.”

“Eww.” I chuckle, shaking my head at his silliness. “We’ll workshop it.”

I pass him the gingerbread latte concoction. He takes a sip and passes it back. We take turns sipping the latte, and the flavors of gingerbread and coffee mingle deliciously on my tongue.

As Greg lowers the mug, there’s a smudge of whipped cream on his upper lip. Unable to resist, I reach out and gently wipe it away with my thumb. Our eyes meet, and suddenly the air between us is charged with a different kind of warmth.

Slowly, deliberately, I bring my thumb to my mouth and lick off the cream, never breaking eye contact. Greg’s breath hitches, his pupils dilating.

“You had a little something…” I murmur.

“Cam…” he whispers, and then his hands are cupping my face and he’s kissing me, deep. I can taste the gingerbread on his lips, sweet and spicy and perfect.

The rest of the world falls away and there’s nothing but the two of us as I lose myself in the kiss. Greg nips at my bottom lip and I gasp, pulling him closer. I’ll never get enough of this.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and dizzy, my heart pounding against my ribs. Greg rests his forehead against mine, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Love you,” he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek. “You make me so incredibly happy, Cam.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

We spend a few minutes just breathing each other in, and as much as I’d love to stay here wrapped in his arms all afternoon, I’d rather take him home and show him just how much I love him. I have a special meal planned, with a nice bottle of wine, followed by a lazy evening in front of the fire watching a movie. Who knows where the night will end up?

“We should probably start cleaning up,” I say eventually, glancing around at the mess we’ve made. “I want to take my man home.”

Greg nods. “Right with you, babe. Hurry up.”

Together, we set about tidying up, washing the equipment we used and wiping down counters with the easy efficiency of long practice. The Christmas music still plays softly in the background, filling the air with the sweet strains of “Silent Night” until, with a final, contented sigh, I switch off the lights and take Greg’s hand in mine. “Let’s go home.”

As we step outside, he squeezes my hand. “Hey, babe. Mind if we swing by Ellis Books before we head home? That novel I’ve been waiting for finally came in. It won’t take a minute.”

“Sure thing,” I reply, smiling at the excitement in his voice. God, he loves to read. “What’s the book again?”

“It’s called ‘The Map Home’ by Elle Keaton. It’s a Christmas romance set in a small town, just like ours. I’ve been dying to read it.”

We make our way along the sidewalk to the bookstore. We push open the door, and instantly, we’re greeted by the cozy atmosphere inside. I love the familiar smell of the books that fill the place, but what catches my eye is the sight of children gathered in the far corner, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Logan Nichols reads them a story. I sidle closer and stand with the parents who are watching as Logan’s expressive voice brings the tale to life. The kids are utterly transfixed, their eyes wide with wonder. One of the little ones is inching closer to Logan’s knee until they are eventually pressed up against his side.

I lean in closer to Greg. “Look at that,” I whisper. “Isn’t it just the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It really is. Logan’s so good with them, isn’t he? And the way they’re all so engaged… it’s pure magic.”

We stand there for a moment, just watching, before we tear ourselves away to go find Greg’s book. As we step out of the bookstore, Greg’s new novel tucked safely under his arm, I can’t shake the image of those kids from my mind. The pure, unbridled joy on their faces, the way they hung on Logan’s every word… it’s like they were glimpsing a whole new world, one full of endless possibility and wonder.

I slip my hand into Greg’s as we start down the sidewalk, a wide smile on my face.

That’ll be our kid one day.