I found myself envisioning the pups who would rotate through our cafe and wishing for one of my own. My rental house hadn't allowed pets, but I'd always had a dog growing up. Just one more thing I had sacrificed on the altar of Jake.
"You know, I think this place is perfect," I said, feeling a wave of appreciation. "You did a great job with it." I was secretly relieved Bo had already designed the place and gotten most of it set up before he'd asked me on board. That would have been a daunting task for me—too daunting, I suspected. I didn't like interior decorating, and I didn't have a natural sense of style, like most women seemed to. I'd be happiest meeting the employees and hanging out with the dogs.
My brother, who wore a tank top that showed off his tattoos, grinned at me. He'd been a Marine for seven years, and he still looked like one. I knew for a fact that he conceal-carried his Glock almost everywhere he went.
"I'm glad you think so. Auntie A would've approved, I think—we'll be helping dogs find homes, the same way she opened her home to us." He fell silent, probably still reeling from Auntie A's sudden death in January, just like I was.
Our great aunt Athaleen had adopted us when I was only two, after our parents died in a creek flood. She was kind of like a dad and a mom rolled into one. She knew how to fix the pipes in the basement and how to cook our favorite turkey dinner. She was an unmovable rock in times of difficulty, and a soft blanket when we were sick or sad. Bo was right—she would've loved what we were doing with her place. She'd likely say she was "proud we carried the Hatfield name," which had been a common refrain of hers.
Although late-stage ovarian cancer had stolen her health quickly, I couldn't stop wondering if Jake's Christmas betrayal of me had led to her death early this year.
I grabbed some paper towels and a bottle of cleaner, turning toward the paned front windows to hide my tears. After spraying each section thoroughly, I started wiping the windows down. "When were you thinking we'd open?"
"I wanted to give you time to get settled in, but I already have people applying for jobs. I figured we could start interviewing tomorrow, if that'll work for you."
"That'll work." I went over a streak that didn't seem to want to disappear. "Hey, I'm not going to have to make coffee or anything like that, am I? You know I'm better at brewing tea than making coffee. And that espresso maker looks like it could chew my hand off if I handled it wrong."
Bo laughed. "I wouldn't get anything that could hurt anyone. But no, I don't expect you to make the coffees. I'm hoping to hire enough baristas so that we can rotate them out, then you can focus on the dogs."
"Could we get someone to stand in for me if I have to take sick days or anything?"
He slid coffee flavoring bottles into a wire rack. "Of course. I was planning on that. You wouldn't be doing this alone."
"You've thought of everything." I walked over and gave him a high-five.
"Let's hope so," he said. A shadow of doubt crept into his eyes, and I quickly turned away to hide my surprise.
My brother had never shown any doubts when he'd pursued his dreams before. What had Tara done to him?
2
My clothing for the interviews was eclectic, to put it mildly. I hadn't unpacked all my boxes yet, so I felt a bit shoddy, showing up in ripped jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt.
True to form, Bo didn't even raise an eyebrow at my getup. And when the first job candidate came in, I actually felt a bit overdressed.
Kylie was on the younger end of twenty-something, wearing a midriff top that showed off her belly ring and quite a bit of a dragon tattoo that wrapped up her neck and down both arms. Her faded black jeans were so ripped up, they might as well be cut off and turned into underwear.
I asked her a few questions, to which she offered nothing more than curt answers. I shot Bo a look that said Shut this thing down now, but he must've misread me, because he took over the interview process. Kylie visibly softened and seemed willing to answer him, which made me wonder if she had some kind of serious mommy issues.
Still, she started to shine the moment he asked if she had any previous experience. She did—at a Dunkin' Donuts, where she'd innovated some of their coffee drinks and apparently made some lifelong customers, to boot. She'd studied coffee making techniques online, and she offered to make us each a drink of choice on the spot.
I took one sip of my caramel macchiato, complete with a foam dragon head floating on top of it, and I tossed my reservations out the window. This girl could brew a mean cup of joe, and the fact that she had loyal customers told me her coffee bar-side manner must be more engaging than her interview persona.
Bo and I went into the back room to chat a little, but returned quickly to tell her she was hired. She might be a tough nut to crack, but having her on the Barks & Beans team would be an asset in a trendy town like Lewisburg where customers appreciated edgy and delicious brews.
We hired three other workers, then Bo did a week of training with them on the espresso maker and register.
On Thursday, I placed a call to the owner of the local animal shelter, Summer Adkins. Her cooperation was essential to our cafe's success. Unfortunately, our conversation started out rough as I tried in vain to explain the objective of our cafe—to find homes for her shelter dogs.
"But what are you actually doing with the dogs again?" she demanded over the chorus of dogs barking in the background.
"They'll just hang out in the doggie section here at the cafe and enjoy getting loved on by customers. You'll choose which ones to bring. Of course, we'd want them washed up, deflead, dewormed, and vaccinated."
"People would be bringing their own dogs to the cafe, too? What about dog fights?" she asked.
"No. No outside dogs are allowed in. The idea is to focus on the shelter dogs."
Her tone was still irritable. "What if this cafe doesn't move dogs? Do people understand this isn't a no-kill shelter? Do you understand that, Mrs. Hatfield? That means dogs eventually wind up being euthanized if they're not wanted."
"It's Miss Hatfield, and yes, I totally understand." I took a deep breath. "Listen, Barks & Beans will help you out by allowing people to spend time with the dogs so they know they're a good match right up front. It can only result in more adoptions than you have now. It's honestly a win-win." Bo handed me a London Fog tea and I curled tighter into a booth, giving him a nod of appreciation and summoning more fortitude. "Summer, please understand that we're asking that people buy at least one beverage before entering the dog area, and we're going to give you a percentage of that cover charge to help with shelter expenses."
That seemed to shut her up, so I agreed to drop by later that afternoon to look over the dogs and talk logistics.
Bo took a break from arranging vintage classic books on the shelves. The library had donated several boxes of books when they'd heard we were looking for them. The head librarian and Bo had been in the same grade in school, and I suspected her bookish gift was intended to be more than just a friendly gesture. But Bo acted oblivious to the come-ons of women in town, which seemed to occur every time we went out.