Don’t make me go.
Chapter 5
Andante eased into an afternoon lull at one thirty. The morning wasn’t as busy as Jeremy had hoped, but it wasn’t dangerously quiet either. He consoled himself with the thought that Winsome was a slow burn kind of town and that any grand opening might naturally take on a more adagietto pace, and certainly never an allegro. It would all be okay . . . He was only a week in. There was no need to panic. More than that, he could make it great.
With that pep talk, he looked to the counter where his new hire, Brendon, stood chatting with a customer. Perhaps he was taking a little long, considering a few more waited to order, but wasn’t that what Jeremy wanted? An employee who knew the town? Brendon flicked his head, and his long bangs swept out of his eyes. Tall, clean-cut, and captain of the high school lacrosse team, he possessed an easy charm and confidence—and a hair flip—Jeremy envied.
Ryan had resisted hiring Brendon, but that felt like nothing new. Lately everything Jeremy suggested, Ryan protested.
“We don’t need more help. Give me more hours, more responsibility; I can handle it.”
“Forget it. There’s a lot riding on this, and I’m already working fourteen-hour days.”
“But I’m not.”
Jeremy turned away. He had not wanted to point out that Ryan cost twice what a high school kid cost and that he didn’t engage customers any better than Jeremy did. Neither of them gave off that “favorite son” vibe Brendon exuded.
On some level, after the shop was closed and Jeremy stood alone wiping down those multithousand-dollar wood counter tops, he feared that he was in over his head. And if he felt that way, surely Ryan must too. After all, Ryan had made amazing strides, but moving was stressful, starting a new job was stressful, life was stressful . . . Bottom line, Ryan was only a couple years out of rehab. And Jeremy, with so much on the line, not only couldn’t afford any mistakes, but felt like he was jumping out of his skin with the weight of each decision, each moment, and each sunk shot from those ancient machines.
He could feel the tension right then, making his skin heat and his words rush out faster than his brain could make them kind or polite or even cogent. He pushed them out of his mouth at a rapid-fire pace.
“Why don’t you take over the baking? It’s all mixes. Super-easy stuff and, if you add some variety, maybe we’ll sell more. Food has a higher margin.”
“Fine.” The younger man stared at him for a beat or two. “Also, why don’t you let me look at the books? Back in Seattle, you were prepping me to cover those. I’d like to take them on here. I think we’ve got some waste. Our first couple months we ordered so often I think we overpaid in shipping.”
“Let’s hold off on that. The goal is to keep things fresh, so there’s bound to be a little loss as I get the business dialed in.” He shrugged away Ryan’s request and his concerns.
Yet as each and every assurance raced past his tongue, questions, doubts, and fears grew behind them. “I’ll go over the ordering again . . . Besides, if you did all that, how would I spend my evenings?”
“With your daughter?”
Jeremy looked away again and busied himself wiping down one of the espresso machines. He didn’t have an easy answer for that one, or for why he was keeping work from Ryan. It was a strange feeling, to be so close to what he wanted and yet so afraid it was slipping away. It felt as though if he didn’t grab hard and fast, keep focused on the end prize, and crank that death grip tighter yet, it would all slide though his fingers.
He felt the same about Becca. Moving to Winsome, purchasing Andante—it had all started with his need to spend time with his seven-year-old daughter. And if he were to believe his ex-wife’s Instagram feed, that was happening. Daily Krista posted pictures of him with Becca, edited with sepia tones and soft lighting. Only if one looked carefully would one see their outfits were the same on three or four different “outings.” Heck, he almost believed Krista’s skilled storytelling himself—the idea of their “conscious uncoupling,” as she called it, their amicable agreement on every parenting decision, the “generous” time and effort they both put into their relationship and communication skills for their daughter’s sake. It sounded perfect. It looked perfect.
But it wasn’t perfect. Despite his moving across the country to be near Becca, Krista still kept him a good distance from their daughter and was wary of the time he spent with her.
Jeremy watched as Brendon handed a customer a blueberry muffin with a winning smile. Yes, hiring that boy was a smart decision, he told himself. A good coffee shop was an extension of your home, your own living room, of my living room, Jeremy thought, where everyone was welcome and felt comfortable. And who better to welcome the town than a treasured one of their own, a rising star? Jeremy felt his breath even out. All the pieces were dropping into place. The shop looked great, the staff now gave the right image, and soon his new state-of-the-art espresso machine would arrive and it’d be smooth sailing . . . And this was only week one.
He turned back to the two ancient machines he needed to nurse through another couple weeks. They might be old, impossible to calibrate, and on their way out the door, but they were still gorgeous. The previous owner, Georgia Pavlis, had treated them well over the years, and their stainless-steel casings shone like mirrors. Not a scratch on either one.
Wiping them down, he puzzled over the incongruence between the care Georgia had given these machines and the chaotic mayhem of her shop. There was a disconnect he couldn’t understand.
A breeze from the front door reached him, and he twisted toward it to call out a cheerful hello. He stopped upon seeing Janet. “Hey there . . . I don’t usually see you in the afternoons.”
“It’s quiet in here.” She smiled.
“Coffee shops often are in the early afternoon.” He cringed at his perky voice. He was certainly working hard to convince someone.
She flicked a finger behind him. “You can almost see your reflection in those.”
“They need to hold out another couple weeks until my new machine arrives. None of this came cheap.” He gestured into the shop.
“We’re facing the same issues. The bookshop’s remodel hit us hard. We’ll both hit our stride soon.”
“I hope so.” Jeremy clasped his hands behind his back and stretched his chest. “What can I get for you?”
“I came to invite you to the business collective meeting tonight. You said you were too busy a few months ago, and last month you closed to renovate, so tonight it is.” She winked.
“Is that the Chamber of Commerce thing?”
“No . . . Until they find a new executive director, that’s at a standstill. This is a group Claire started, and it’ll be good for you. We share what we’re up to, what help we need, chat, often gossip, and it builds friendships, promotes goodwill, and champions buying local.”
Jeremy opened his mouth to say yes and sighed instead. “I’ve got my daughter tonight.”
“Bring Becca along.”
Jeremy chuffed, but felt reluctant to miss an opportunity. Even accounting for an afternoon lull, Andante was too quiet. He needed customers. “That wouldn’t work, but I’m sure I can pick her up afterward. Count me in.”