Page 8 of Steeped In Problems (Badges & Baristas #3)

Aiden turned to Kristy, voice dropping into storyteller mode.

“You should see the stuff I found up in the attic—the Miller’s Gorge incident.

Blaze was a rookie, and the rest of us figured he’d tap out after the first rappel, but a thunderstorm rolled in, and some college kid got stuck halfway down.

Rocks were coming loose everywhere. I was ready to call it, but Blaze—” Aiden gestured across the table, “—he ties off, swings under the lip, and gets this kid on his back. Climbs out with a busted hand and made the front page.”

“He got a medal for it, too,” Lindsay added.

Kristy’s mouth made a perfect O. “You never told me that,” she said, almost accusing.

Tanner shrugged. “Aiden always exaggerates. It was three meters, tops, and the hand was just sprained.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “He’s always downplaying. You could put him in a burning building, and he’d swear it was just a little warm in there.”

Lindsay sipped her coffee, watching the banter with fondness. “Do you miss it?” she asked, soft but direct.

Tanner picked at a paper napkin, rolling it between his fingers. He didn’t have to think about it. “Every day,” he said. “But this—” He glanced around the shop, the chatter, the smell of bread and caffeine, “—isn’t the worst gig in the world.”

Kristy chimed in, voice warm. “It’s not. And you keep the espresso machine running like it’s on the final lap at Indy.”

Aiden nodded, suddenly serious. “You’re still making a difference, Blaze. People need a place to land after the hard calls. You’re giving them that.”

The words sat heavy for a moment. Tanner let them settle, felt the comfort and discomfort both, the old mix of pride and guilt. It was easier to talk about rescues than what came after.

Lindsay pivoted. “What about you, Kristy? Aiden said you’re a nurse?”

“Was,” Kristy said, half-shrugging. “County General, mostly trauma. But after a while, I realized I couldn’t fix the world. So now I fix coffee. Or try to.”

Lindsay’s eyes lit up. “I pop in there often for my job as a social worker. I bet they miss you. They had a temp last week who couldn’t even figure out how to take the blood pressure of one of my kids. You’d have run circles around her.”

Kristy laughed, all teeth and honesty. “Some days I miss it. Others, I like that the only thing I have to clean up is spilled milk.”

The table relaxed, the mood lighter. Stories traded back and forth, not all of them heroic.

Aiden told one about accidentally deploying an airbag in a sheriff’s cruiser; Lindsay countered with a tale about saving one of her foster kids from a school bully by making them have a dance-off.

Kristy topped it all with a story about an ER patient who’d walked in with a live parrot in his jacket.

Even Tanner had to admit, it was the best story at the table.

He watched Kristy as she talked—how her face animated with every word, how she pulled in Lindsay and made her laugh with half a sentence.

Tanner was good with people, in a limited way.

Kristy had a gift for making strangers into allies.

He liked that about her, even if he’d never admit it to anyone.

Rhonda checked in once, asked if they needed anything, then disappeared with a wink at Kristy.

Aiden glanced at his phone and then holstered it. “We should head out soon. Kids will be waiting.”

Lindsay looked at Kristy. “Before we go—what made you leave the hospital? If you don’t mind.”

Kristy paused, then finally replied, “I didn’t want to watch people die anymore. Not when I could help them live, even if it’s just with a muffin and a smile.” She shrugged, but Tanner could tell it cost her something to say it.

Lindsay squeezed her hand across the table. “Well, you’re helping more than you know. Sometimes, you just need a safe place to recoup.”

Aiden stood, chair scraping. “True that. Thanks for the coffee, Blaze.”

Tanner stood, too, and this time, the stiffness was gone. “Anytime, Cap.”

“Excuse me, I need to handle something before we go.” Lindsay stepped away from the table to make a call, cradling her phone and pacing near the front window.

Kristy drifted back to the bar to help Rhonda with a sudden burst of customers, her laughter echoing even over the clatter of Daisy’s steamer.

“She’s good for this place,” Aiden said after a beat, eyes on the hero wall.

“Kristy?” Tanner asked as he joined him.

Aiden nodded. “You could do worse than having her on your six.”

Tanner grunted. “She’s got her own baggage.”

“Don’t we all,” Aiden shot back, “but she doesn’t let it slow her down. Not for a second. That’s rare, Blaze.”

There was a quiet. Tanner felt the old urge to defend himself, to explain how he was doing fine on his own, how the shop was running just as planned, but the words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

Aiden leaned in, voice lower. “You know, I wasn’t sold on this whole operation when you first pitched it. I figured it was a distraction, a way to keep your hands busy. But you’ve built something. You got people relying on you again. That means something.”

Tanner squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “Still not sure what, sometimes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aiden said, his voice suddenly all steel. “What matters is that you’re still in the fight. You didn’t just roll over. Most guys, they’d have punched out after what you went through.”

Tanner met his gaze. “You ever wish you had?”

Aiden thought about it, then shook his head. “Not my choice. God decided to keep me on the force. He has a different plan for you. You just need to trust him.”

He knew his friend was right, but Tanner had always struggled with his faith. He wished it came as easy for him as it did for Aiden.

They both watched as Kristy danced between customers, hands moving fast, face alive. She handled a family of four like it was nothing, even entertained the kids with a joke about Daisy being haunted by the ghost of a caffeine-addicted mouse.

“She’s a good one,” Aiden said gesturing with his head toward Kristy. “You should consider if she could be more than just a barista to you.”

Before Tanner could respond, Lindsay reappeared, looking relieved. “All set. The girls are terrorizing their Aunt Erica so we can head to the grocery store instead of home.”

Aiden helped his wife with her scarf, then turned to Tanner. “You coming to the next SAR dinner?”

Tanner shrugged. “If you need a chaperone.”

“We always do,” Aiden jested with a smirk.

“And bring Kristy,” Lindsay insisted. “She’d be the life of the party.”

“I’ll consider it,” he told them, though he doubted he would ever muster the courage to ask her whether he wanted to or not.

Tanner and Aiden traded another handshake, longer this time, and Lindsay pulled Tanner in for a hug that nearly knocked the air out of him. “You take care of yourself,” she said, voice muffled in his shoulder.

“Trying,” he answered, and he meant it.

The O’Connells left in a gust of cold air and sunlight.

Tanner watched them cross the street and disappear into the park, then turned his attention back to the shop.

Kristy was behind the bar, sleeves pushed up, stacking cups and wiping down counters with manic efficiency.

Rhonda was telling a story to a pair of retired firefighters, gesturing wildly with tongs.

For a moment, Tanner just stood there, letting the noise and light settle around him. He wondered what the old him would say if he could see the life he’d built now. He wondered if it was enough to simply hold things together.

He caught Kristy’s eye just for a second. She flashed a wide smile, then went back to wrangling a new order. It was easy, when he was around her, to forget what hurt. To just be.

He went behind the counter, picked up a rag, and started in on the coffee stains, wiping them into neat, invisible lines. The shop was full of people, but he felt—maybe for the first time—like he belonged.

Tomorrow, there’d be new stories. New faces. New messes to clean up. But for now, the Brave Badge was his, and Kristy was here, and that was enough.