Page 25 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)
Chapter Thirteen
Kristy spent the next morning on her couch, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big and staring at her phone like it held the answers to world peace.
Her apartment looked like a donation bin had gotten in a fight with a grocery store and lost: empty seltzer cans, takeout containers, and a random sock draped over her lamp like it were auditioning for the role of mood lighting.
The sun wasn’t even up yet. Kristy wasn’t sure she’d slept.
Her phone was filled with photos of the fundraiser—before it went full disaster.
The barn was lit up and alive, strings of LED lights everywhere, the crowd thick and noisy, everyone smiling.
There were shots of the auction table, still intact, baskets of gourmet popcorn and those weird local hot sauces, and people actually dancing.
She flipped through them, heart squeezing with every swipe until the sequence reached the moment Mark’s whiskey-red face ruined everything.
The videos started then, from the high schoolers’ phones—his voice, his ranting, the crash of glass, and the popcorn flying.
Kristy watched it twice, just to punish herself. She wished she could blame him for all of it, but mostly, she just felt like an idiot for thinking she could ever change the world with a coffee shop, a bake sale, and some borrowed string lights.
A text came in at 7:09 a.m. It was Nurse Gomez, who always woke up with the sun.
“If you need anything, let me know. Ignore the jerks. You’re the best.” Kristy choked on a laugh, then set her phone face down on the pillow beside her.
She stared at the ceiling. Wondered if this was what rock bottom looked like.
Not a dramatic collapse but a slow, heavy sinking.
She almost called Tanner. She pictured him in his apartment, sitting in the dark, maybe drinking a beer at eight in the morning because what else was there to do?
But she didn’t call him. He needed time.
He needed someone who could fix things, and Kristy was pretty sure she was the opposite of that right now.
What she needed was a plan or at least a lifeline. She scrolled her contacts until she hit “Erica Cruz Turner.” Kristy let her thumb hover, heart racing, then hit call before she could talk herself out of it.
The line picked up on the second ring. “If this is about my children being banned from the after-school program again, I can explain,” Erica started, voice crisp and amused. In the background, Kristy heard twin boys shrieking and, weirdly, a goat.
“It’s not about your kids. It’s about me,” Kristy blurted.
The shrieking stopped, like Erica’s presence alone could will her offspring into silence. “Whoa, Kristy. I didn’t look at the screen when I picked up. You okay?”
Kristy tried to breathe. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The fundraiser was a disaster. Mark showed up and ruined everything. I think the shop is finished. I think I’m finished. I don’t know what to do.”
“I wish I could have been there, but I had a last-minute meeting. Zach had filled me in when I got him, but now I want to hear it from you,” Erica demanded, all the breezy energy gone, replaced by full attention.
Kristy launched into it: the weeks of planning, the bake sale, the car wash, the chaos, the hope, the barn dance, the almost-kiss with Tanner, Mark’s crash-landing, the aftermath, the final tally that left them two thousand dollars short and Kristy lower than she’d ever been.
She didn’t sugarcoat it, didn’t make herself sound better.
She just dumped it all, voice shaking and small, and waited for Erica to say she’d call back later or just hang up.
Instead, Erica spoke slowly, “Okay. I might have an idea.” A rustle of paper, a clatter as if she was knocking stuff off a desk with one arm. “Come over. I’ll make coffee and bribe the twins to leave us alone. Can you be here in an hour?”
Kristy’s brain stalled. “I—yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’m not letting you turn into a tragic small-town legend.”
Kristy hung up, the first bloom of hope in her chest since last night. It almost made her cry all over again.
She slid off the couch, almost stepped on her laptop, and went to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a mess: hair somewhere between “loose bun” and “feral,” eyes puffy, nose red.
She splashed water on her face, wiped down with a towel that smelled like citrus and guilt, and started to look for real clothes.
She chose jeans and a green blouse, then changed three times before ending up back in jeans and a different blouse.
She didn’t want to appear as though she was asking for a loan, but also didn’t want to look like she was above asking for one.
She compromised by pulling her hair into a ponytail and dusting her cheeks with whatever powder was left in the bottom of an old compact.
The effect was...less haggard. Good enough.
The drive to Erica’s was ten minutes, eight if you didn’t stop for the crosswalks in her neighborhood. Kristy made it in seven. She parked behind a Tesla with a “Boy Mom” sticker and a Jeep plastered with decals from every National Park in the continental U.S.
Erica’s house was the opposite of Kristy’s apartment. The driveway was professionally plowed, and the porch was decorated with an actual seasonal wreath instead of a tangle of expired delivery flyers. Even at 8:00 a.m. on a weekday, every window glowed with warm light.
She braced herself for the Turner boys—ten-year-old twins who had weaponized chaos—and rang the bell. Erica opened the door before the chime finished, dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt that said “CEO of Snacks.” Her hair was perfect, her eyeliner sharper than a hypodermic.
“Get in here,” Erica ordered, dragging Kristy inside.
The house was pure Turner: giant dog, giant noise, walls covered with framed photos and vintage book collections. The boys were out back, launching something off the porch with a slingshot. The dog looked up, sniffed Kristy’s shoes, then went back to sleep.
Erica led her to the kitchen, which already smelled like fresh bagels and the kind of coffee that was too expensive to admit you bought. “Sit,” she commanded, sliding a mug across the counter.
Kristy sat, feeling half-human. Erica handed her a plate with an everything bagel the size of her face, with a side of cream cheese. “Eat. I can’t help you if you faint.”
Kristy took a bite, chewed, and tried not to sob at how good it tasted.
Erica waited, arms folded until Kristy looked up. “So. Let’s save the Brave Badge.”
Kristy set the bagel down, hands trembling. “I don’t know if it’s savable.”
“Everyone thinks that. Right before something’s saved.” Erica smirked. “Now tell me exactly how much you need, what you tried already, and what you want to happen next.”
Kristy did. She gave numbers, names, and every embarrassing detail. Erica listened, never interrupting except to scribble something on a notepad or refill her coffee.
When Kristy finished, Erica leaned back and cracked her knuckles. “All right. Here’s what we do.”
Kristy waited, pulse pounding.
“I’ll invest in the business, not loan—invest. Silent partner, no weird strings.” Erica’s expression was dead serious. “Consider it my way of paying it forward. Or atoning for the twins’ future crimes.”
Kristy blinked again. “That’s...amazing.”
Erica sipped her coffee and shrugged. “I have my moments.”
“But are you sure...”
“Let me worry about what I can do. You focus on making the Brave Badge the best it can be.” Erica leaned in. “Can you do that?”
Kristy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her mind was already whirring, recalculating the odds, reframing every failure as a pivot to what came next.
Erica tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails on the counter. “You’re going to need to convince Tanner to take the offer. You can’t let him quit out of pride.”
A flush crept up Kristy’s neck. “I’ll talk to him. I just...I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell him that it’s worth it. That Clear Mountain needs the Brave Badge. And maybe, finally, tell him how you feel.”
Kristy almost dropped her mug. “It’s not like that.”
Erica laughed, but it was warm. “Sure it isn’t. But in case it is, don’t wait until the last minute.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kristy insisted.
Erica smirked. “You two are disgustingly cute. Have you noticed?”
Kristy blushed hard. “There’s nothing to notice.”
“Oh, please.” Erica rolled her eyes. “Even the twins know. And they think kissing is gross.”
Kristy made a face. “It’s not… I mean, we’re not…”
“Save it for the after party,” Erica teased, but her grin was kind. She reached over and pulled out a checkbook, wrote a check for twice what the coffee shop needed, and handed it over. “But seriously, you need to go and deliver this to Tanner without another moment’s delay.”
Kristy stood, legs shaky but heart lighter. She hugged her friend tight. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know,” Erica said, hugging back just as hard. “Now get out there and save your hero.”
Kristy laughed, waved goodbye, and drove toward the Brave Badge with her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. She had a plan. She had a partner. And if she was lucky, she’d have a second chance.
Kristy stood outside the Brave Badge for a solid minute rehearsing what she was going to say. She could see Tanner at the bar, hunched over a tangle of papers, head down and still. If he noticed her standing there, he didn’t give any sign.
She pushed the door open, but Tanner didn’t look up. He was wearing an old Clear Mountain Search & Rescue hoodie, and the way his shoulders slumped made Kristy’s throat hurt.
She crossed the floor, every step loud in the empty shop. “Hey,” she said, voice small.
He grunted, just barely. She slid onto the stool next to him and waited. He kept writing, like maybe if he just ignored her, she’d vanish and take the problems with her.