Page 40 of Steeped In Problems

He drove her home. The night was soft and empty, every light in the town glowing. He pulled up at her place and watched her unlock the door.

She turned and halfway inside. “Thanks for tonight.”

He nodded but didn’t move to leave.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something else.

He tried. The words got stuck. In the end, he just said, “See you tomorrow morning, Kristy.”

She smiled, something quiet and real. “See you then, Tanner.”

She closed the door, and he sat in the truck for a long time, engine idling. He hadn’t expected to want a second date. But now, he wasn’t sure he’d survive not getting one.

Chapter Eleven

Kristy arrived at the Brave Badge before sunrise, her eyes gummy with sleep and her hair in a bun so lopsided it looked like an art installation. She stopped cold, mid-step, as the light fixtures blinked on. Someone had rearranged the entire shop.

The counter and the bar, to be fair, were where they always were—Daisy perched on top, gleaming like a diva, register across from her. But the rest? Kristy’s jaw dropped.

The old, hard-backed chairs and laminate tables had been pulled into groupings instead of the neat, school-cafeteria rows. The pastry counter was moved closer to the door like Emily suggested. The biggest change was in the far corner: a reading nook, complete with a worn-in armchair upholstered in navy and gold, a squat wooden bookshelf crammed with battered paperbacks, and three soft blanket throws draped over the chair arms like a hug waiting to happen. A standing lamp with a stained glass shade casts a honey-yellow glow over the whole area.

The main floor was broken up with side tables for chess or cards, all topped with succulents in mismatched mugs. The harsh, flickering ceiling bulbs were gone—replaced with warm-toned track lights that turned every surface into something you wanted to touch.

Kristy’s first instinct was to hunt for a camera—this was a prank, had to be—but it was too real, too carefully done. She spun in a slow circle, mouth open, backpack slipping off one shoulder.

Behind her, a door creaked. Kristy turned.

Tanner stood at the end of the hallway, holding a mug of coffee and wearing the rarest of rare creatures: a new shirt. Not flannel, not faded. Charcoal, sleeves rolled. He watched her for a beat, his jaw moving like he was working out a calculus problem he hated.

“You did this?” she asked, pointing everywhere at once.

He shrugged, looking down into his mug. “Emily said we needed to make the space more inviting for...future stuff.”

Kristy floated across the room, running her hand over the arm of the reading chair. “You found this at the thrift store?”

“Rhonda’s cousin donated it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said her cats only puked on it twice.”

“Smells like lemon Pledge,” Kristy reported, burying her nose in the blanket. “And the bookshelves and paperbacks?”

“Rhonda said people kept asking if we had a reading area.” He shrugged, more sheepish than grumpy. “Again, all of it was donated, so I figured, why not.”

“It’s perfect.” She scanned the room again, taking it in as if it were a scene from a movie she was pretty sure she’d want to watch over and over. “I love the lights, too. You did all this in one night?”

He didn’t answer, but the way his cheeks colored told her yes.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw the effort it had cost him—not just the sweat and time, but the surrender of his old order. The sacred layout, the routines. The badge of pride he’d worn since the place opened.

She crossed the room, stopped a couple feet in front of him, and smiled. “I’m proud of you,” she told him, meaning every word.

Tanner gave a noncommittal grunt, but he met her eyes. “It’s just furniture and a few decorations.”

“It’s more than that.” She grinned wider. “It’s like, actual human progress. It’s a good look on you, Blaze.”

He huffed, but she caught the ghost of a smile before he buried it behind his mug.

She noticed the wide selection of books and was about to ask him if he planned to join Oprah’s Book Club when she heard the front door open. Kristy’s heart stuttered in her chest as she half expected Mark to saunter in, but no—this was a different kind of tornado.

Joe Griffin, founder of Brave Badge Roasting Company, entered wearing his signature Stetson hat and a duster jacket that belonged in a cattle drive. He looked bigger in person than he did in the company photos—broader, more solid. His face was lined with both sun and smiles. Beside him, all edges and kinetic energy, was Emily Merlot, today in a leather jacket and boots that looked more expensive than Kristy’s entire wardrobe.

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