Page 17 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

Chapter Nine

The car wash day arrived with a sky so clear and the sun so bright it felt like the whole universe was rooting for them.

Early Saturday morning, firefighters rolled up in their shiny trucks, hoses ready and grins wide as they parked in the Brave Badge parking lot.

The pavement transformed into a sudsy stage for local heroes scrubbing down every car that lined up.

The turnout was impressive. Half the town seemed to have shown up, eager to get their cars washed by firefighters or just to support the cause. Kids ran through the spray of water, dogs barked happily from their owners' cars, and local news cameras rolled, capturing every moment.

There were at least twenty cars in line—some official vehicles, but mostly battered pickups and family minivans. And all of them were getting the most inefficient, spectacular, and community-driven wash of their lives.

Kristy went back to inspecting the line with her clipboard, thanking the drivers as they handed over crumpled bills and loose change. “Thanks for supporting the Brave Badge,” she called, waving to a mom in a black SUV whose three sons were yelling in the back seat.

The parking lot smelled like lemon cleaner, burnt espresso, and spring mud.

Kristy liked how alive it felt—noisy, packed, every little moment vibrating with a new emergency to solve.

The first responders, the retirees, the kids from the town’s soccer league—everyone was out today, drawn by the promise of free donuts and the vague threat of Rhonda’s super-secret surprise baked good, which, based on past trauma, Kristy suspected was just regular banana bread with a shot of rum.

She worked the crowd, placing new donation jars, chatting up the parents and old timers, and even making small talk with the brooding guy from the animal shelter who never smiled.

“You got a dog in there, or just letting the cat hair accumulate?” she asked, pointing at the van.

The guy blinked, then actually smiled, showing more teeth in one second than he had in the entire past month of morning drop-ins at the coffee shop.

Tanner hovered by the sidewalk, arms crossed over his blue Brave Badge shirt, looking like he was personally offended by how much water was being wasted.

His sunglasses hid his eyes, but not his smirk—she saw him shake his head as a cluster of six-year-olds armed with tiny squeegees converged on a Jeep.

She liked that he was watching. She liked that he didn’t try to take over or micromanage the chaos. He just held the perimeter and let her run the show.

Around noon, the line finally thinned, and Kristy caught a moment to breathe, wiping suds from her face and adjusting her wet blue T-shirt with “Car Wash for Bravery” written across it.

She ducked into the shade, peeled the lid off her iced coffee, and took a giant, blissful gulp.

The air was muggy, with spring threatening to turn into summer, and sweat had glued her hair to her forehead.

Still, she was grinning like an idiot. They’d made nearly nine hundred bucks in the morning shift alone.

If the rest of the day kept pace, they might actually earn enough to reach half their goal, which meant the auction and dance would help them cross the finish line.

"You think this will be enough?" Tanner asked as he joined Kristy.

"It will help us get there," she told him as she scanned the crowd. "Look at them all. This is community."

Kristy wiped suds off her face. "We've already raised nearly another grand toward the goal," she announced gleefully, waving a wet tally sheet. "And it's only noon."

"That's my girl," Tanner murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Before she could respond, he sauntered off, leaving her to compliment what he meant by “my girl.” She wiped her brow with her sleeve and was about to go wrangle more volunteers when she heard a car engine—a low, predatory purr that didn’t belong to the town’s usual battered sedans. She glanced up.

A Tesla, black and shining, rolled up to the curb and stopped. The doors opened with a theatrical hiss. Out stepped Mark.

He wore sunglasses, but they weren’t like Tanner’s; they were too expensive, too shiny, the kind that screamed, “I have a stock portfolio, and I will explain it to you even if you never asked.” His hair looked freshly cut.

His white linen shirt—who even wore white linen in Clear Mountain?

—was ironed. He was the only guy in the county who could look like a Miami drug lord at a small-town car wash.

Kristy felt her heart do a weird stutter. She reached for her coffee and immediately spilled half of it down her shirt.

Mark saw her. He didn’t wave, just walked straight over, like he was late for a TED Talk. The crowd didn’t part for him, so he had to maneuver between a trio of kids with sponges and got tagged with a stripe of blue soap across the knee. He scowled and looked for someone to blame.

“Wow,” he said, reaching Kristy. “You’re really going all in on the small-town fantasy.”

She pretended to find a spot on her clipboard that needed urgent attention. “You came to support the fundraiser?” she asked, keeping her voice breezy.

He snorted. “I came to see if you were still alive. You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Probably because I changed phones,” she snapped, which was technically true—she’d dropped her old one in a sink, then left it in a bag of rice until it went moldy.

Mark’s smile was too wide, all canines. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. Last time I saw you, you were threatening to become a hermit. Now, you’re running a bake sale, and a car wash out of a coffee shop. Quite the pivot.”

She refused to look at him, hating the sarcasm that was dripping from his voice. She looked at the line of cars instead, at the way the sun gleamed off the fire truck, at Tanner’s still silhouette by the sidewalk, hoping that at any moment, he would see Mark bothering her and step in to intervene.

“I’m happy to help make this place work,” she told him.

Mark leaned in. “Is that why you’re wasting your nursing degree, or is there another reason?” He gestured with his head toward Tanner, making it clear who he was referring to.

It was meant to be a jab. It landed like a punch. Kristy felt her cheeks go hot. She tried to keep her expression flat, but she was sure her mouth had gone tight.

“Why do you care?” she shot back, low.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets, like he was the chillest guy on earth.

“I just thought you’d come to your senses by now.

It’s a waste, you know? All those years, all that debt.

And for what? A town that can’t keep a coffee shop open?

You should go back to nursing; you should come back to me, where you belong. ”

A few of the parents in the crowd were watching now, sensing the tension. Kristy hated that she could feel their eyes. She wished she could teleport into the break room and hide behind the dry goods rack until Mark left.

She tried to laugh it off. “At least it’s not corporate consulting.”

That got a genuine smile out of him, but he was already on his next move. “You know, I could get you an interview at my company. We’re always hiring people who can handle pressure. You’d fit right in. And you wouldn’t have to deal with...” He gestured vaguely at the mayhem. “This.”

She stared at him. The old Kristy—the one who wore navy scrubs and triple-timed down ER hallways—would have snapped. But the new one just felt tired.

“I’m good,” she insisted. “I like it here.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked over her shoulder, at the crowd, at the slow-moving parade of cars, at the hand-painted banners, and the sunburnt kids. “You always were stubborn,” he said finally. “I just figured you’d get tired of playing pretend.”

There it was, loud and clear. Kristy’s throat closed up. She wasn’t going to cry in the parking lot. Not today.

She fixed her smile in place, just like she had a thousand times at the nurse’s station. “If you’re not here to get your car washed, I have to get back to work.”

He took a step back, but only just. “Maybe I’ll swing by in the next couple of days,” he said, voice sharp. “See if you and the shop are still here.”

Kristy didn’t dignify that with an answer. She spun away and marched toward the next car in line, which turned out to be the local sheriff’s SUV.

But the words stuck in her chest, spreading out like a bruise.

She went through the motions, waving at kids, thanking donors, and shaking the cash jar with extra gusto. But it wasn’t the same. She kept feeling the burn of Mark’s gaze, even after he left like his words had stained her shirt worse than the spilled coffee.

She tried to reset. It didn’t help. The next hour was a blur of wet shoes, sticky change, and shrieking toddlers.

At one point, she tripped over a hose and splattered a bucket of soapy water across a regular customer, an older woman with purple hair who came in every Sunday for a single plain scone and hot tea.

Kristy apologized a hundred times, but she was sure the story would make it into next week’s town gossip.

She ducked inside the shop, hands shaking, and tried to wipe the sweat off her face. She was halfway to the break room when Tanner intercepted her.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and—was that actual concern?

“Fine,” she lied, already tugging at the sleeves of her T-shirt. “Just—” She gestured at the mess outside. “Car wash craziness.”

He didn’t buy it. She could tell from his expression. He didn’t press, though. Instead, saying, “Well, you handled yourself good out there.”

She snorted. “I just dumped a gallon of water on a grandmother.”

“Adds character,” he said, and somehow, that made her feel better.

She wiped her face with a towel and felt her heartbeat start to slow. “Thanks, Tanner.”