Page 13 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

Chapter Seven

Kristy arrived at the Brave Badge an hour before opening; her optimism squashed flatter than the bagel she’d sat on in the car on the way over.

The sky was still pink and groggy. Her breath fogged in the cold, even inside the Corolla, and she had to fumble her keys twice before the front door gave way.

She noticed nothing was done and made her way through the shop: lights, check. Tables and chairs, check. Cash register—wait. The register drawer was open, the small safe next to it ajar, a band of invoices coiled around the handle. Someone had been here before her. Only one person made sense.

She walked toward the back, every step a little heavier than the last. The office door was propped open by an empty crate, and inside, she found Tanner at the back, arms braced on the edge of his desk, head hanging between his shoulders.

It was an odd pose. Not rage, not collapse.

More like a boxer in his corner after too many rounds.

He didn’t notice her at first, so she watched. He kept folding and unfolding a single piece of paper, creasing it until the edges curled in. Next to him, a neat stack of documents—bills, contracts, a Brave Badge manual marked up in red ink. His phone lay face up, screen dark.

“Hey,” Kristy said, voice meant to be casual but coming out too loud. “Everything all right?”

Tanner jerked upright and almost knocked the crate with his foot. He forced a straight face, but the effect was ruined by the heavy bags under his eyes and the fact that he hadn’t shaved. “Yeah, just had some stuff to do.”

“You want coffee? I can start a batch.” She was already at the grinder, Daisy ready and waiting, as Tanner followed behind her.

“Don’t go to the trouble,” Tanner mumbled, but he said it too late, and she ignored him.

She poured beans into the hopper, each clatter too loud in the silent shop. Daisy whirred to life. Kristy stared at the wall as she worked, forcing her hands to move with the same precision as always. It was the only thing keeping her from asking the questions already boiling in her brain.

She finished two mugs, poured the first for him, and set it on the prep table with a careful slide. “Here, drink,” she ordered. “You look like you need it.”

He reached for the cup, knuckles white, and drank. Then he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

She watched him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. Just numbers.” He gestured to the stack.

“Okay,” she shrugged, but not moving. “Because yesterday you looked ready to throw someone through a window, and today you’re acting like you just got the news from the vet that your dog didn’t make it.”

He almost smiled, but not quite. “It’s not your problem, Kristy. You don’t have to fix everything.”

She shrugged. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever told me not to try fixing things.” She let the silence hang. “What’s wrong?”

Tanner stood there, jaw set, and she thought maybe he was going to clam up for good. Then he sighed and slid the wrinkled piece of paper her way. She took it. It was a statement from the bank. Overdrawn. Minus sign, three digits, more minus signs.

He didn’t say anything, so she picked up the rest of the stack. Rent invoice—three months behind. Supply invoice, overdue, with a red pen line through “net 30.” A memo from Brave Badge headquarters: “Evaluation period is two weeks. Failure to meet benchmarks will result in removal of branding.”

Kristy’s brain went white for a second like she’d gotten a faceful of snow. “Oh,” she murmured. “Wow. How long?—”

“I thought I could dig out,” Tanner said, and this time, his voice had an edge.

“But sales never caught up, and I kept comping drinks for fellow first responders, and then that last freezer repair—” He snapped his fingers, abrupt.

“Doesn’t matter. Emily said we’ve got until the end of the month, then Joe pulls the plug. ”

Kristy looked at the top page, then the bottom. There was no hope buried in the middle, just more disappointment. “You should have said something,” she told him. “We could’ve tried something, I don’t know?—“

Tanner laughed, but it was a broken sound. “Tried what? Sell my truck? Fire Rhonda, and have you run the whole shop solo?”

“Maybe,” Kristy blurted, then caught herself. “I mean, no, but—there’s always something. Have you tried fundraising? Or a GoFundMe? Or some kind of community event? You know every cop and firefighter in town. Can’t you just call them and make them drink more coffee?”

He shook his head, and for once, he looked older than she’d ever seen him, every line in his face deeper than usual. “I don’t want to beg. I started this to give people a place. If I can’t keep it running on my own, what’s the point?”

Kristy could have smacked him. She settled for slapping her notepad on the table, flipping to a clean page.

“First of all, you’re not on your own. Second, people here don’t care about pride.

They care about coffee and carbs and not having to go to a chain to get either. Third, it’s only two weeks, right?”

He grunted.

“That’s more than enough,” she told him and started writing.

“Listen. The hospital used to do this all the time—someone gets cancer, everyone rallies around them, bake sale, silent auction, go bald for a cause, the works. We just have to treat this like an emergency. We triage. We recruit. We put out a call.”

Tanner blinked. “A call?”

“Yeah. Like when you’re short-staffed,

and everyone scrambles to fill the gaps.” She looked up at him, pen poised. “This is what you taught me, Blaze. When the chips are down, you lean on your team. You think I can’t throw together an event in a couple of days?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She saw the hope flicker there, thin as it was.

Kristy chewed on the end of her pen. “Okay, what’s the biggest event we could throw with zero budget and maximum attention?”

He stared at her like she was the crazy one now, but after a minute, he started answering. “First responder appreciation. Chili cook-off. Pie eating contest. Those always packed out at the station.”

She nodded, scribbling. “Good. What else?”

He shrugged. “There’s a town council meeting tomorrow. If you get someone on the agenda, you could get the mayor to plug it.”

Kristy grinned. “Even better. We’ll get Rhonda to make her ‘accidentally loaded’ muffins. She can guilt the council into showing up.”

He shook his head, but this time, it was almost a smile. “You think that’ll work?”

She clicked her pen, determined. “It’s better than nothing. Unless you want to just close the doors and let Emily win?”

Tanner’s jaw worked. He said nothing for a while. Then, softly, “I hate this. I hate asking for help.”

Kristy set her pen down and slid the pad over so he could see it. “It’s not about you, Blaze. It’s about us. This place is the only thing keeping half this town from losing it on any given day. You don’t get to decide if it’s worth saving. We do.”

He stared at the page, then at her. For the first time since she’d walked in, his eyes actually met hers. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t have to.

She poured him another cup, black as always, and set it in front of him.

“You’re not alone in this. We’re going to do everything we can to save this place together.”

He picked up the mug. His hands weren’t shaking anymore. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

She smiled, real this time, and started the list. People to call. Flyers to make. Stories to leak to the Gazette. She hadn’t fixed anything yet, but she could see the outline, clear as a sunbeam on snow.

She watched Tanner out of the corner of her eye as she scribbled down ideas, and she saw something shift there. Not quite hope. But close enough to fake it, for now.

She kept her phone on the bar and her hand on a Sharpie.

Between tasks, she scribbled new ideas or scratched out the weak ones.

"I like the idea of a punch card. What if we do one, and after ten drinks, the eleventh is free?

" she suggested, stacking cups behind the register.

"Or a social media contest. Whoever posts the best 'hero story' gets, I don't know, a month of free drip coffee? "

Tanner, fixing a wobble in the front leg of a stool, grunted. “What if no one participates in the contest?”

“Then I’ll post a hundred times myself,” she told him, not missing a beat. “You ever seen my Instagram? I can fake an entire crowd with some cardboard cutouts and a dog in a bandana.”

He made a face like he wanted to disagree but didn’t.

Kristy worked the morning rush, moving at double speed. Whenever there was a lull, she started calling. First up was Aiden. She put it on speaker.

“Blaze,” Aiden answered, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s Kristy,” she said, “but yes, everything’s fine—unless you count the fate of the Brave Badge hanging in the balance. Can you make it to an emergency meeting tonight? Seven sharp.”

Aiden didn’t even pause. “I’ll be there. Do you need Lindsay to come?”

“Bring everyone you can,” she encouraged. “We need brains and muscle. And snacks.”

“Copy that. We’ll see you tonight.”

Next was Hayley Hall Bishop, the owner of the local paper, who picked up and started talking before Kristy even said hello. “Hey, I’m about to go in to work, so make it quick.”

“Can you swing by the Brave Badge tonight at seven? It’s urgent. Like, possible-life-or-death-for-this-place urgent.”

Hayley’s tone sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

Kristy told her the fast, short version and waited.

Hayley didn’t sugarcoat. “Do you have a spreadsheet with numbers? Or are we just brainstorming?”

“I’ll have everything ready. Can you bring some of your newspaper crew and your husband’s SWAT team? They all drink caffeine like water, so they know the value of this place.”

“I’ll try. But you owe me a good story to pitch them with.”

Kristy grinned. “I guarantee this will be front-page news.”