Page 24 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

A cluster of high schoolers filmed it on their phones. Rhonda, hands full of coffee carafes, looked ready to brain him with the first thing she could grab. At the edge of the barn, a few couples started gathering their coats, eyes wide, ready to bolt.

Tanner stepped forward just enough to block Mark’s line of sight. “That’s enough,” he growled, voice low. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Go home.”

But Mark had found his audience. He sidestepped around Tanner, zeroing in on Kristy now. “You’re not even trying to hide it, are you? I mean, pretending to date a cop? Is that supposed to make your mom proud, or are you just desperate to get a rise out of me?”

Kristy’s hands shook, but she didn’t back down. “Please leave, Mark. You’re drunk. Go home.”

He mimicked her, voice falsetto. “Please leave, Mark. You’re drunk. Go home.” Then he laughed—hard, ugly, and mean. “You’re even more fun when you’re playing pretend. How long do you think this’ll last? Until you get bored and leave him like you left me?”

Tanner could feel every eye on them now. He had to end it, fast, before the whole fundraiser dissolved into disaster.

But Mark wasn’t finished. He stalked past the auction table, grabbing at one of the flyers advertising the “Brave the Bean” campaign.

He crumpled it in his fist, waving it at the crowd.

“It’s all a lie. All of it. None of you people have the guts to say it, so I will.

Kristy’s just using this place as a crutch, and the rest of you are suckers for coming here and thinking it means anything. ”

He started tearing down the flyers, one after another, making a show of it. The guests at the nearest table scooted their chairs back, half in horror, half in anticipation of what would happen next.

Tanner moved fast, sidestepping between Mark and the nearest group of onlookers. He kept his voice measured. “You’re done. If you don’t leave, I’ll have you escorted out.”

Mark sneered. “Yeah? Who’s going to do it? You and your band of has-beens?” He jerked his chin at Aiden, who was already crossing the room with Zach, and Connor, who had his phone out and was calling someone—probably the Chief.

Mark’s bottle slipped out of his hand, clattering across the floor and leaking whiskey all over. He staggered and tried to grab the edge of a table but only managed to tip over another auction basket. This one shattered, and the glassware inside went everywhere.

At that, Emily stood up from her post near the thermometer board. Her voice, crisp and clear, cut across the bedlam: “Event security will call the sheriff if you don’t leave right now.”

Mark shot her a look of pure loathing. “Oh, good. The fun police.”

Aiden and Zach reached him at the same time. Zach, all smiles, put a hand on Mark’s arm, saying, “Hey man, let’s get some air, okay?” Aiden’s grip was less gentle—he herded Mark toward the door with the unspoken promise of what would happen if he resisted.

Mark wasn’t done putting on his show, though. He twisted in their grasp, pointing at Kristy one last time. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us? Go ahead. Hide behind your ex-cop boyfriend. See how long that keeps you warm at night.”

Kristy didn’t say a word, but the hurt in her eyes was impossible to miss. Tanner wanted to gather her into his arms, to say something, anything, that would make this better. But now wasn’t the time.

Aiden and Zach hauled Mark through the barn doors and out into the parking lot. The second he was gone, the whole room let out a collective breath—relief, embarrassment, and maybe a little bit of disappointment from those who’d hoped for a fight.

The music started up again, but it was half-hearted. Nobody danced. People made excuses to leave. Even the teenagers stopped filming and retreated to the far end of the barn, away from the broken glass and spilled whiskey and wine.

Tanner stayed where he was, glancing around the room, taking in the ruined auction table, the toppled decorations, the faces of the guests—most of them looking anywhere but at Kristy or him.

He finally turned to her. She was picking up shards of glass with her bare hands, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched so hard he thought her teeth might break.

He crouched down beside her, reaching for the bigger pieces. “Let me,” he gently whispered.

She didn’t look at him. “I’ve got it.”

He waited, hands steady until she finally set the glass down and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm.

“He always does this,” she murmured.

“I know, but he’s gone now.”

She snorted. “Until next time.”

He didn’t argue. There would be a next time; he was sure of it.

They finished cleaning in silence. Rhonda brought over a roll of paper towels, her face tight with anger. “You want me to call the sheriff and have him do a drive-by around your house? Just in case?”

Kristy shook her head. “No. He’s so drunk, only thing he’s going to do is go home and sleep this off.”

Tanner wasn’t so sure, but he let it go. Instead, he helped Rhonda re-stack what was left of the auction items. He could feel the eyes on him, every guest in the barn measuring him up, waiting to see if he’d lose it like Mark had.

He didn’t. He just kept cleaning, kept busy, kept his mouth shut.

When the room was finally back in order—or as close as it would get—Kristy stood up, dusted off her hands, and walked to the front of the barn. She faced the crowd, what was left of it, and forced a smile.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, voice steady. “We appreciate your support, and we hope you’ll keep helping us make this town better. There’s still coffee and dessert at the back. Please enjoy the rest of your night.”

A smattering of applause, polite and strained.

She stepped off the makeshift stage and walked straight outside.

Tanner hesitated, then followed. The night was cold and black, the sky clear with sparkling stars. It would have been the perfect, romantic setting to finally make his move and kiss her if it hadn’t been for the chaos otherwise known as Mark.

He found her leaning against the hood of her car, arms wrapped tight around her middle. He stopped a few paces away. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. She looked up, tears glimmering but not falling. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t,” he assured her, and it was true. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I volunteered.”

She tried to smile, but it was too hard.

He wanted to reach out, to put a hand on her shoulder, but he knew that kind of touch would only make things worse. Instead, he told her, “You did good in there. You kept it together. Most people would’ve cracked.”

She took a shaky breath. “It feels like I did.”

Tanner shook his head. “Not even close. You’re stronger than you know, Kristy.”

He watched her for another minute, making sure she was steady, then went back inside to finish what needed to be done.

The rest of the night was a blur. The guests trickled out in ones and twos, each offering Tanner a sad smile or a murmured apology.

By the time the barn was empty, it felt like the whole event had never happened.

Just a pile of debris and a handful of tired people holding themselves together as best they could.

Tanner counted the cash twice before he believed the total.

He’d never seen money disappear so fast—one minute the thermometer was rocketing up, and the next, half the guest list was gone, leaving behind only a few crumpled twenties and a fistful of loose change.

Maybe if Mark hadn’t wrecked everything, maybe if people had stayed and paid for the remaining auction items, maybe if the world just worked a little differently, they’d have made it.

He stood at the donation table, hands braced on the edge, shoulders hunched. The barn was almost empty now. Two volunteers swept the far corner, heads ducked, not talking. Kristy and Rhonda worked in silence at the dessert station, boxing up leftover cupcakes, faces pinched and tired.

He could see the mess Mark left—a splatter of whiskey, streaks from someone’s muddy boots, a crater where the auction display had been.

A couple of the vases were broken, wildflowers scattered like the aftermath of a bad prom.

Above it all, the fundraiser thermometer glared back at him, the red marker line stuck short of the “SURVIVAL” mark.

He didn’t hear Joe and Emily approach until Joe set a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You did good, son.”

Emily was right behind, tablet in one hand, phone in the other. She took in the wreckage with a single, clinical sweep, lips pressed tight. “I’ll update the franchise ledger,” she said, mostly to herself. “But it’s not going to be enough.”

Tanner nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could feel the eyes of every person still in the barn—maybe not looking at him directly, but waiting for him to do something, anything, to make it better.

Joe dropped his hand and walked the room, picking up stray trash and setting chairs back in order. When he came back around, he leaned in close. “Sometimes you do everything right, and it still goes sideways. That’s not your fault.”

Tanner stared at the money on the table. “I thought we had a chance,” he whispered, voice rough. “We were so close.”

Emily looked at her tablet, fingers moving fast. “Close isn’t enough in this market,” she told him, and it wasn’t mean, just true. “But you did move the needle. If you want to try again, maybe with a different approach?—”

He shook his head. “I’m not putting Kristy through another night like this.”

Joe sighed. “She’s tougher than you think.”

Tanner almost laughed, but it came out as a grunt. “She’s tough. She’s not made of stone.”

There was a silence, the kind that never gets filled.

Emily turned, scanning the barn. Her gaze landed on Kristy, who was wiping down a table so hard it looked like she might rub the finish off. “I’m sure she’ll bounce back.”

Tanner didn’t answer. He just kept counting the money, hoping the total would magically change if he glared at it hard enough.

After a minute, Joe patted his shoulder again. “Why don’t we take a walk, son.”

Tanner followed him outside. The air was sharp and cold, slicing through the sweat on his skin. They walked to the far end of the gravel lot, where Joe leaned against the hood of a battered pickup and stared up at the stars.

Joe said nothing for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was low. “It’s not the end, you know. God has a way of working out situations even when we think there’s no way.”

Tanner shook his head. “I want to believe that, but I can’t ask people to come to another fundraiser. Not after what just happened.”

Joe smiled, sad and soft. “Sometimes you just take what you get, and you try again tomorrow.”

“But I’m running out of time,” Tanner grumbled with a shake of his head.

“Look, I’ll cover the next payroll. Don’t tell Emily, she’ll kill me. You want to keep running this place, you’ve got my blessing. But if you want out—if you want to walk away—I’ll take the blame for it.”

Tanner shook his head again. “That’s a generous offer.”

“Don’t take too long to think about it. Like you said, you’re running out of time.”

They headed back toward the barn. The lights were off now, except for a dim bulb over the entry. Kristy stood in the doorway, arms folded tight across her chest. She looked like she’d been crying, but she’d already wiped her face clean.

Joe tipped his hat to her and walked past, muttering something about “tomorrow’s another day.” Emily joined him, her phone already at her ear, coordinating a “contingency plan.”

Tanner hung back, watching Kristy. She didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

“Joe says we can try again. He’s giving us another shot.”

Kristy stared at the ground, hair falling over her face. “I don’t think I can do this again. Not after tonight. Mark is just going to keep ruining everything.”

He nodded, doing his best to hide his hurt over her letting Mark come between them. “I get it.”

She looked up, eyes red but steady. “Are you going to keep the shop open?”

He thought about it. Thought about every mistake, every lost dollar, every time he’d let the team down.

He thought about the first time he’d seen her, laughing behind the counter and the way she’d made even the worst days feel like they mattered.

Such a sharp contrast to how she looked now, and all he could think about was how this was all his fault.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to let it go.”

She flinched, just a little.

He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he watched her turn, slow and small, and walk out into the night.

He waited until she was gone before he locked the barn, flicked off the last light, and let the dark swallow everything behind him.