Page 12 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

He sat in the booth for a long minute after she went back to work on her laptop, staring at the hero wall at the photo of himself, half-smiling and alive. Then he got up, rolled his shoulders, and went back to work.

By eleven-forty, Brave Badge was a war zone. Tanner manned the register with one hand and slammed the espresso portafilter with the other. Every time he glanced up, there were four more people in line, each with their own dietary restrictions, each more urgent than the last.

Kristy worked the front with a speed that bordered on the supernatural.

“Who’s next for caffeine and poor life choices?

” she’d shout, her voice somehow reaching both ends of the shop and cutting through the noise.

Her smile didn’t falter. She traded jokes with the regulars, smuggled extra cookies to cranky toddlers, and always managed to be exactly where someone needed her at any given second.

Tanner tried to match her pace, but he was fraying at the edges. The register kept sticking on cash transactions. Someone had spilled a bottle of syrup, turning the bar floor into a skating rink. There was a shortage of clean mugs. Every time a ticket printed, he felt his pulse spike.

Somewhere in the background, Emily sat in a corner booth, eyes locked on her tablet and the controlled chaos around her. She didn’t talk to anyone. She just watched, logging every botched order, every minute someone waited in line, every time a customer left with a frown instead of a smile.

By 12:45, the lunch rush ebbed to a trickle. Tanner’s shirt was clinging to his back, and his hands shook when he tried to pour himself a glass of water. He caught Kristy glancing at him, concern in her eyes, but he just shrugged it off and wiped down the counter with extra force.

Emily set her tablet aside and beckoned them both along with Rhonda with a two-fingered gesture. “Five minutes,” she told them. “Window table.”

Tanner nearly ordered her to wait, but Kristy was already in motion, heading to the big table by the window. The light spilled over the laminate, making everything look harsher.

Emily didn’t waste time. She slid the tablet to the center and tapped the screen, bringing up a series of graphs, charts, and color-coded blocks.

“Let’s talk performance,” she started. “You’re selling out the pastry case daily, but your drink margins are abysmal. Yesterday, you wasted more than a pound of beans on mis-pulls and remakes. That’s sixty dollars out the window before lunch.”

Tanner bristled. “It’s a new machine. People are still learning?—”

Emily cut him off. “Then train them. You’re not running a charity. Even your best days barely cover overhead.”

She turned to Kristy, her tone softening by a fraction. “You’re great with customers. But you’re taking too long to close out transactions. There are bottlenecks at the pickup bar. We lose efficiency every minute someone has to wait for a to-go order.”

Kristy’s smile faltered, just a hair. “I’m working on it.”

Emily nodded like she’d been expecting the answer. “Good. Because the numbers don’t lie, we’re at risk of missing projections for the quarter. And that puts your shop in the bottom twenty percent for new franchisees.”

Tanner’s jaw locked. “We’re building a base. The town isn’t even at peak season yet.”

Emily flicked to the next slide. “That’s an excuse. You know who doesn’t make excuses? Our Glenwood Springs and Aspen. They started out smaller, but they’re both doubling your per-customer ticket within the first six months.”

“Those towns aren’t like this one,” Tanner shot back. “Clear Mountain isn’t some ski bum paradise. Most of our customers are just trying to keep the lights on right now.”

Emily smiled, but it was a brittle thing.

“Maybe. But they’re still choosing you. And you have to give them a reason to come back.

” She folded her hands, the picture of businesslike composure.

“Which brings me to your shop’s vibe. It’s.

..fine, but it’s stale. There’s no identity.

You’re not the quirky hangout, you’re not the high-end spot, and you’re not even the only place in town with free Wi-Fi. What makes Brave Badge different?”

Tanner opened his mouth, but Kristy beat him to it. “The hero wall,” she asserted. “The way we remember people. The way we actually know our customers’ names. That’s the difference.”

Emily arched an eyebrow. “It’s not enough. Not if you want to keep the doors open.”

She let that hang for a moment, then swiped to a layout mockup on her screen.

“I propose a new workflow. Move the register to the left, increase the prep space, push the pastry display closer to the entrance. Create a clear path for to-go customers. Streamline the back bar so no one has to reach over each other.”

Tanner’s fists clenched under the table. “That’s not going to work. It took me weeks to get this setup right. You don’t even know the building?—”

Emily looked at him, her gaze as cold as her tone.

“I ran my own location for two years, and I managed a location for another one, plus did audits on another half-dozen, which is why Joe asked me to do this. I’ve seen every version of these problems, and I’ve fixed most of them.

If you don’t trust me, trust the data. Or you’ll be on a list for ‘possible restructure’ by Christmas. ”

Kristy coughed into her hand, then asked, “Do we really need to change everything? Can’t we just improve what we have?”

Emily softened her voice, but only slightly. “You can’t fix a sinking ship by bailing faster. Sometimes, you have to patch the hull.”

That was it. Tanner snapped. He stood, palms flat on the table. “This is my shop. I built it. I know what works for Clear Mountain, and it’s not another chain with plastic smiles and fake personalities. We’re real. We make mistakes, but we own them.”

Emily didn’t flinch. “Then, own the financials. Because right now, you’re burning cash, not earning it.”

Tanner’s face was red hot by this time. “You want to run the place, be my guest. But I’m not gutting what I made just to hit some corporate target.”

Emily stood, too. She was shorter, but her presence filled the table. “That’s exactly what you have to do, unless you want to see your dream fail inside a year.”

The two of them locked eyes. No one spoke.

Kristy broke the silence. “Maybe we could try some of the suggestions for a couple of weeks. See if they work. If not, we can always go back?”

Emily nodded, but her gaze stayed locked on Tanner. “That’s a reasonable approach. Are you willing to give it a shot?”

Tanner wanted to say no. He wanted to throw the tablet out the window or tell Joe to shove it and just let his coffee shop die on his terms. But he looked at Kristy, at her hopeful face, and her hands twisted in front of her, and he knew he couldn’t do it.

He exhaled. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. But if it makes things worse, we do it my way from then on.”

Emily smiled, almost genuinely this time. “Deal.”

She sat back down, pulled out a printout, and slid it across the table. “Here’s the new workflow. Let’s start tomorrow morning.”

Tanner didn’t sit. He grabbed the paper and stalked away from the table, the heat in his chest spreading all the way to his fingertips.

Behind him, he heard Kristy say, “He’s not usually like that. He just...cares.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve worked with worse. Grumpy ex-cops come with the territory when you’re dealing with Brave Badge locations.”

In the back room, Tanner found himself staring at the wall.

He punched it once, just hard enough to leave a mark.

He didn’t care about the pain. He cared about losing the only thing that made sense anymore.

He hated to admit it, but Emily had a point.

He was bleeding money, and if something didn’t change, he was going to lose this place.

The afternoon was slow. Kristy pretended to clean the coffee bar, but really, she just wiped the same spot over and over. Tanner felt her eyes on him, hovering at the edge of his vision. He didn’t want to talk. Not now.

Emily worked at her corner booth. Every so often, she’d look up and catch him watching, then go right back to typing on her tablet. At two-thirty, she stood and stretched. Walked the perimeter of the shop again, as if she owned it.

When she reached the counter, she leaned in. “Can we talk? Just you and me.”

Tanner didn’t answer. But he followed her to the window booth anyway.

She opened a folder and set a single sheet between them. “This is the three-month projection if things keep going at the current rate,” she said, tapping the paper.

He didn’t look at the numbers. He didn’t need to. He already knew how bad it was. He watched her eyes, steady and dark. He tried to hate her, but it was hard. She was just doing her job. He’d have done the same—once, long ago.

“If we lose another ten percent, Brave Badge will terminate your contract,” she said. “The decision comes from higher up. I’m not the villain here.”

Tanner picked up the paper. The numbers blurred. He dropped it back onto the table.

“So what?” he questioned. “You want me to gut the whole shop? Fire Rhonda for having car problems? Make Kristy do double shifts for minimum wage?”

“No,” Emily shook her head. “I want you to think about what you’re willing to fight for and what you’re willing to change so you can win.”

Tanner almost laughed. “You think I’m afraid of a fight?”

She shook her head. “I think you’re afraid of letting people down. That’s not the same.”

Kristy materialized at the edge of the table, a mug in her hand. “Can I get you anything?” Her voice was light, but her eyes were fixed on him, searching.

Tanner didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself not to break something if he opened his mouth.

Emily took the mug and sipped. “Thank you, Kristy. You’re doing great.”

Kristy looked at Tanner, waiting for him to say something. He just stared at the table.

Emily slid the sheet across the table, closer to him. “Read it,” she insisted.

He did. The numbers were worse than he expected. A slow, steady bleed—expenses, losses, projections in red. There was a list at the bottom: Possible Cost-Cutting Measures.

It was everything he hated. Raising prices. Diluting the menu. Shortening the hours of operation. He felt bile in his throat.

“Is this what Joe wants?” he probed.

Emily nodded. “It’s what will keep the shop open. For now. Things can change down the road, but we need to figure out what to do now to keep this place open.”

He stood, the paper still in his hand, a wrinkled white flag of surrender. As he walked out the front door, he did his best to hold it together. He found a bench by the park and sat, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. He’d never failed at anything this badly.

Tanner stayed there until the sun went down. When he finally headed home, the shop was dark. Kristy’s car was still in the lot. He almost went back inside. Almost.

But he couldn’t face her. Not with his head and heart empty of platitudes.

He drove home in silence. His apartment was small, too clean, and colder than he remembered. He tossed his keys on the table and dropped into a chair. The Brave Badge reports, bills, and invoices littered the tabletop. He pushed them aside and found himself staring at an old photo in a cheap frame.

It was him, in uniform, standing next to the Chief and two of his old SAR buddies. They were grinning, wind-burned and alive. That was before the accident. Before everything changed.

He set the photo down, face down. He didn’t want to remember.

He thought about Kristy and Rhonda, and all the regulars who’d made the Brave Badge theirs. He thought about the empty space on Main Street if he lost the shop and how little there would be left for him here.

He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes. The shop would open tomorrow, and he’d have to face them all. But for tonight, he let himself wallow in his own defeat.