Page 23 of Steeped In Problems

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.

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