Page 11 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

Chapter Six

Tanner prided himself on being first to the coffee shop.

This morning, he went about his normal routine, opening the front door and clicking on the lights.

But when he heard the familiar sound of Kristy’s humming drifting from behind the counter, he was startled.

He found her underneath Daisy, curly hair bunched up in a bandana and cheeks already smudged with cinnamon.

She didn’t notice him, not until he cleared his throat.

“You’re here before me.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get in here and do some detail cleaning,” Kristy explained, flashing a smile. “Daisy missed me, anyway.”

He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t have to. She went back to cleaning, and he made his way to the back to pay bills.

Then, at 6:01, the world changed. The front door banged open with a force that could’ve shattered glass if someone else was holding the knob.

She was small, maybe five-three, and carried herself like she had diplomatic immunity from all social norms. Black hair, cut to her chin, with the kind of bounce that only comes from a salon or severe genetic luck.

Her leather jacket looked too expensive for Clear Mountain.

Her boots, like they’d survived a motorcycle crash.

She paused in the entrance, scanned the shop, and zeroed in on Tanner like a missile. He stood behind the counter, braced for whatever came next.

“Hi,” the woman said. “You must be Tanner Blaze.”

“That’s me,” Tanner acknowledged.

He felt Kristy’s curious gaze from beside him and noticed she pulled off her bandana and patted her curls into place.

The woman smiled, sharp and fast. “Emily Merlot. Brave Badge corporate. I’m here to evaluate your location, make assessments, and provide recommendations.”

Tanner’s gut clenched. He’d gotten the warning from Joe Griffin—an “internal evaluator” coming to observe—but he had hoped it had been a bluff. Apparently, Joe didn’t make idle threats, and Emily Merlot standing in his coffee shop was proof of that.

Kristy stuck out a hand. “I’m Kristy Howard. I’m one of the baristas here.”

Emily shook the other woman’s hand, then turned right back to Tanner. “Where’s your morning shift? Just you two?”

“Rhonda’s late. Her car hates the cold,” Kristy offered.

Emily nodded and pulled a tablet from her messenger bag. She propped it on the counter and tapped the screen like she was swiping away a personal enemy. “Let’s start with a walk-through,” she said.

“Do you want a drink?” Kristy tried, gesturing at the machine. “We have a new dark roast?—”

“I’ll take a medium latte. Extra shot. No sugar,” Emily answered, eyes still on the tablet. “And I want to see how you handle a high-maintenance order.”

Kristy shot a glance at Tanner, then went to work. Her hands were steady, but Tanner could tell she was overthinking every motion.

Emily did not wait to be shown around. She strode behind the counter, barely pausing for Kristy to move out of her path, and started opening cabinets, sniffing the milk, tapping at the register. “You do your own maintenance on the equipment?” she inquired.

Tanner nodded. “Mostly, unless it’s a full breakdown.”

She made a note and then checked the under-sink storage. “You have a lot of cleaning products down here. Does OSHA know you’re stockpiling the world’s chlorine supply?”

Tanner bristled just a little. “We keep it clean.”

Emily grinned, apparently satisfied. “So I see. No rats or bugs. Good start.” She turned to Kristy, who was finishing up the latte. “You always steam the milk first, or do you multitask?”

Kristy blinked. “It depends on the drink?—”

“Efficiency is money. Multitasking is best,” Emily told her, already glancing back at her notes.

She walked to the customer area and flicked a finger over every table, checking for stickiness, then went to the restrooms and spent an uncomfortably long time in each. She returned and ordered a scone, but only to test how quickly Kristy could cut and plate it.

Tanner followed her from a distance, feeling more and more like he was being cross-examined. When the first customer—a firefighter in a navy blue jacket—walked in, Emily intercepted him at the door.

“Welcome to Brave Badge,” she chirped, holding out her hand. “Can you tell me what you like most about this shop?”

The firefighter looked at her as if she were asking for a kidney but shrugged. “The coffee’s hot. Staff’s not stuck-up. Place has better donuts than the station.”

“Good,” she nodded, writing it down. She left him at the counter and returned to the bar, where Kristy handed over the latte with a trembling flourish.

Emily sipped it, then nodded at Kristy. “You tamp too hard. Makes the espresso a little bitter. Otherwise, perfect.”

Kristy blushed, but the compliment was real. “Thanks.”

Tanner couldn’t decide if he wanted to hurl Emily out the window or ask her to take over for a week and fix everything that bugged him. She worked like a detective with a time bomb strapped to her chest—never pausing, never softening her voice.

Emily checked the break room, the supply closet, and his office. At 6:47, Rhonda arrived. She took one look at Emily and muttered, “Oh, geez. Corporate,” under her breath, then slunk to the back room.

“Who handles daily reports?” Emily asked, tapping at her screen.

“I do,” Tanner told her.

She handed him the tablet, already loaded with a spreadsheet. “Yesterday’s close-out doesn’t match your POS numbers. Can you explain?”

Tanner scanned the totals. She was right. There was a forty-dollar gap, maybe a till error, maybe a comped drink, or an unlogged cash sale. He started to answer, but Emily was already on to the next thing.

“And your inventory is off. You’re down two bags of beans since Monday. Do you sample that much, or is it going out the back?”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll check it.”

Emily smiled like a cat who’d found a mouse in a cookie jar. “Please do.”

She made her way to the seating area and watched as the morning regulars trickled in. Her gaze was clinical, noting the way customers shuffled the chairs, how long they lingered, whether anyone actually read the “Hero Story” cards at each table.

She caught a kid with sticky hands trying to wipe them on the hero wall.

“Hey, bud,” she called. “Can you find your favorite picture on that wall for me?” She crouched down, her voice getting soft, and the kid was instantly on board, showing her the photo of a K9 team Tanner remembered from his own SAR days.

She was ruthless but not unkind. Even so, every note she made felt like a personal attack.

By 7:05, the shop was full. Kristy and Rhonda tag-teamed the rush. Tanner ran backup, pulling drip and busing tables, all while feeling Emily’s eyes on him every time he exhaled.

She never missed anything. When a customer waited too long for a pastry, she clocked it to the second. When Kristy fumbled a to-go lid, Emily was there, timing the recovery.

Finally, at 8:10, she returned to the counter. “Can we have a sit-down at ten?” she asked. “I want to review some process questions and go over your goals for the next quarter.”

“Sure,” Tanner said, though his voice came out a full octave lower than normal.

When she walked away, Kristy gave him a look. “She’s intense,” she whispered.

“She’s a shark,” Tanner corrected. “And she smells blood.”

Kristy smirked. “Good thing you’re the biggest fish in here.”

He almost laughed. Almost.

The rest of the morning was a blur of orders and side-eye glances at Emily, who spent her time scanning reports and making quiet calls to someone higher up the chain. At exactly 9:59, she reappeared at the counter, her latte cup empty and the sleeve lined with neat, careful notes.

“Ready?” she asked.

Tanner nodded, but his stomach was twisting.

He followed her to the window booth, where she’d arranged her tablet and a legal pad like it was a miniature war room. She gestured for him to sit, then dove right in.

“Let’s start with product mix,” Emily said, tapping the screen. “You’re selling more drip than specialty. Is that by design, or just a lack of training on the espresso side?”

Tanner’s mind raced. “It’s what the regulars want. Mostly cops, firefighters, SAR guys—they don’t want froth, just caffeine.”

Emily nodded, writing this down. “But specialty drinks have a bigger margin. Could you nudge sales with a promo?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, but he felt defensive.

She flipped to the next page on her screen. “Customer retention is good. But you have too many comped drinks and ‘on the house’ transactions. I’m guessing that’s a community thing?”

Tanner hesitated. “We comp for first responders if they’re in uniform or coming off a bad shift.”

She nodded again, not unsympathetic. “It’s admirable. But if you want to keep this place running, you need to tighten up. Even heroes pay for coffee eventually.”

He didn’t answer right away. It went against everything he stood for to make those who put their lives on the line pay for coffee. “Giving my fellow first responders a free drink is the least I can do for what they give up on a regular basis.”

“I know this is hard, but you’re going to have to make some adjustments. What if you offered a punch card for loyalty? We have a template if you’re interested. And instead of a full comp, you could consider a discount amount, say 10-20%,” she suggested.

“I’ll consider it,” he told her through gritted teeth.

Emily’s questions kept coming, rapid-fire: Why weren’t they doing more on social media? Why had they discontinued the Tuesday breakfast burrito special? Why was inventory so high but sales flat? For every answer he gave, she countered with a suggestion, a metric, or a gentle challenge to his logic.

She leaned back, tapping her pen. “Look, Tanner. You’re doing good work. But you’re running this like a clubhouse, not a business. I need you to find three areas to improve by the end of the quarter.”

He bristled but nodded. “I can do that.”