Page 4 of Steeped In Problems

She knew she wasn’t supposed to take it so seriously, but she did. She had made it, too.

Kristy drove home with the windows down, the mountain air cold but not cruel. At her apartment, she hung her apron over the kitchen chair and made tea just because she could. She watched the sunset from her balcony, and for once, she didn’t feel exhausted. She didn’t feel haunted. She felt ready.

When she went to bed, she glanced at the closet, half expecting the blue scrubs to stare her down. But all she saw was possibility in the freshly cleaned apron that was next to them, and a note to herself, scrawled on a new sticky: “You belong here.”

And she believed it. For the first time in a very long time, Kristy couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Chapter Two

Tanner Blaze pulled his truck into the Brave Badge lot at 4:42 a.m., not a minute late, not a minute early. He killed the ignition, sat back in the cracked leather seat, and listened to the engine tick down in the dark. Even here, with the air sharp and empty, he couldn’t shake the sense of someone watching him—old habit from the force, probably, or maybe just the mountain’s way of keeping tabs on its own.

He stretched one leg, then the other, and waited for his body to catch up with his brain. The prosthesis didn’t hurt today, not exactly. It was more like an ice-cold rod up the left side, locked from calf to knee. His right hip ached, too—never quite healed from the crash, and weather like this made it sing. He gripped the steering wheel and forced a deep breath. Out. In. Don’t whine. Don’t stop.

The Brave Badge squatted in its nest of frost and dry pine needles, looking like something a storybook sheriff would run. The wood siding was freshly sanded, but already someone had carved initials in one of the front posts. The blue and gold badge on the sign looked crisp in the security light. He made a mentalnote to check the bulbs before he left tonight. He made a note about everything these days.

The “Grand Opening” banner—two weeks old—had started to curl at the corners, ink bleeding from the recent rain. It hung limp like it already wanted to be retired. Tanner couldn’t blame it. The new paint on the window sills had a smudge near the west side. The security camera had an odd tilt. And there, under the awning, someone had left a streak of muddy boot prints up the ramp, the kind that always got stuck in the grain of the deck boards and never came out.

He closed his eyes for half a second, letting the cold morning dig into his skin. Then he swung his legs out and forced himself upright, boots hitting the asphalt with a solid thump. The world did a slow roll, and he blinked until the edges stopped fuzzing.

Key in hand, he walked to the door, every step measured. He’d never been a “coffee guy” before the accident, but at this hour and at this altitude, he’d learned to fake it. First thing he did every day was unlock the place, power up the register, and try to remember what it felt like to have a real badge on his chest, not just a stenciled one on the sign.

The lock stuck just a little, and he had to jiggle it. Another note to add to the list. Maybe this is what he got for taking an old hardware store and turning it into a coffee shop. Lots of creaks and groans, with a bonus of constant additions to his never-ending fix-it list. He let himself in, disabled the alarm and flipped on the bank of lights behind the counter.

Inside, the Brave Badge felt different. Not home—he doubted it would ever be home—but like a suit he’d be wearing until it fit. The hero wall stretched across the north side, full of photos he and Aiden O’Connell had dug out of old police bulletins and newsletters: men and women with tired eyes and goofy smiles, some with dogs or medals or both. At this hour, the faces glaredback at him, flat and disapproving, caught in the shine from the overhead bulbs.

He limped past the tables, set up in perfect rows, and gave the pastry case a quick scan. It was nearly empty, just a few wrapped scones left from the last delivery. That meant Rhonda had followed the new inventory plan—she was good at that, at least. He made his way behind the bar, ducking under the rack of mugs, and started prepping the big espresso machine.

Daisy, they called her. Rhonda had stuck a paper daisy decal on the steam wand on her second day, and now it was Daisy, no exceptions. Tanner never named equipment, not on the force and not in the Army before it, but the staff had been insistent. Daisy, it was.

He filled the hopper, measured out beans, and checked the water line for leaks. The motions were muscle memory now, but the muscles hadn’t caught on that this was the new normal. Everything here was clean, precise, and controlled. Nothing like the busted, bloody chaos of a traffic scene or a house call gone sideways.

He ran the grinder, and the noise shot through the quiet like a bone saw. He preferred silence, but the sound reminded him things were working. Tanner reached for the tamper, packed the portafilter with force, and slotted it in. He caught his reflection in the chrome as he wiped down the counter: hair still dark and long on top, sides shaved high and tight, jawline marked with a scar from the crash, mouth set in a line that refused to be anything but stern.

Behind him, the glass wall showed the center of town. Main Street was dead, not a car in sight. In twenty minutes, the first regulars would roll in, most of them in uniform or retired, all of them hungry for caffeine and conversation. Some would make a show of not recognizing him; others would go out of their way tomention the accident or the medal or the fact that he was “doing so much better now.” He hated those customers most of all.

He ran the machine, pulled two test shots, dumped them, then pulled a third and poured it black into a mug. First taste, always. He sipped, and grimaced. Still too bitter. Daisy needed a cleaning cycle, but he’d have to wait for Rhonda to get in—she was the only one who could wrangle the settings without blowing the pressure valve.

He checked his phone. 5:05. Too early to text Aiden, but he’d probably get an earful about the next SAR training anyway. He scrolled for messages, found none, and set the phone face down.

Inventory next. He went to the back room, pulling up the spreadsheet Rhonda had left on the clipboard. Scones, low. Muffins, gone. Beans, down to the last crate, and that meant calling Joe Griffin’s warehouse again. He hated calling Joe, who was always trying to play the “mentor” card, always making suggestions about management or cost control or “building your team.” Tanner was building his team just fine. It was the rest of his life that needed work.

He was scribbling a note to order more oat milk when the front door opened sharp and twice. He tensed—old reflex. Then he heard Kristy Howard’s voice, bright as a ray of unwanted sunshine blinding him.

“Morning, Blaze. How’s it going?”

Tanner grunted and kept his eyes on the order sheet. “You’re early.”

“Punctual, actually. Rhonda said to try for five-fifteen,” Kristy corrected, breezing behind the counter in a puff of perfume and static-charged curls. She had a lanyard already looped around her neck, her ID badge swinging like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He tried not to scowl. Tried and failed. “Door’s supposed to stay locked till five-twenty. Security.”

Kristy looked him up and down. “Got it, Sarge. Should I do pushups while I wait?”

He ignored the jab and set the clipboard on the counter. “Need you to prep the cold bar. Pastry case is low. Call the Bountiful Bakery for delivery. You know the routine.”

She did, actually. Even with only a week on the job, Kristy moved like she’d been running breakfast bars her whole life. She hit the fridge, set up the milks and loaded the blender, all in five minutes flat. She was…what was the word? Efficient. Not what he expected when he’d hired her—he’d thought she’d be a know-it-all, or nervous, or that she’d crack under the regulars’ jokes. But she didn’t. She just laughed and rolled with it, and if she ever hated anything, she never showed it.

Tanner retreated to the register, running a diagnostic and checking the cash drawer. All the while, he kept an eye on Kristy, who was humming a tune and restocking straws with the dexterity of someone who’d probably placed countless IVs at her old job.

---