Page 39 of Common Grounds

A smile stretches across my face. “I have faith you will, Emery.”

She nods once, sliding her gaze away from mine. But, as I watch her, I’m sure she’s hiding a smile.

BY FAMILIES, FOR FAMILIES: BAKER’S BLEND HAS HISTORY AND HEART

Emery Darlis

Welcome back to our special feature of Baker’s Blend Coffee Shop.

When you walk into Baker’s Blend, you’re immediately greeted with the scent of coffee and the sounds of an acoustic playlist carefully curated to give you exactly the vibes you’re looking for from a local coffee shop.

But if you look a little closer, you’ll see the details that make this space truly unique: The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. The oak chairs and tables that are so well-crafted, they must have been handmade in a previous decade. The vintage tin ceiling that has been lovingly polished and restored. The bar-height counter where countless patrons have sat to enjoy coffee and a conversation over the years.

During one of those conversations, you might even find out a little more. Owner Trevor Kovacic might flash that brilliant smile at you and tell you about his father, David, who owned the shop before him. He might point to a slight imperfection in the wall behind him and recount the tale of his dad accidentally punching a hole in the wall. His grandfather, Marko, who first opened the shop in 1954, made a young David patch up the hole and perfectly match the paint on his own before he could see his girlfriend—the girlfriend who would later become Trevor’s mom.

“He was an exacting man,” said Kovacic with a sparkle of the memory in his eyes. He wouldn’t have been born at the time of the ill-fated hole in the wall, but it’s a story as well-worn and well-loved as the chairs and tables that fill the shop. And it’s as comforting as the warm drinks and muffins Kovacic serves every day—the same ones his father and grandfather served before him.

But it’s not the story that’s important, though it does give you an idea of the heart of the place. This story is one of many. It’s representative of the feeling you get when you walk in the door at Baker’s Blend. You feel the family history like a comforting blanket. You feel relaxed and at home. You feel like Kovacic is welcoming you into his coffee family with every sip of your drink and bite of your pastry.

Baker’s Blend Coffee Shop truly is a place with history and heart. Get your own taste of the history. And get a taste of the delicious coffee, too. You’ll want to stop in soon and check it out as Kovacic gets ready for his grand re-opening in two weeks.

Come back to Baker’s Grove Living next week to read even more about this historical shop.

Chapter fifteen

Emery

I refresh my browser screen while chewing at a loose piece of skin on my bottom lip. If I’m not careful, it’ll start bleeding, but I’m not terribly concerned with that right now. My second article about the shop should have gone live seven minutes ago, and conventional wisdom dictates that the performance in the first hour is a good indicator of how it’ll perform for the rest of the day.

“Try clearing your cache,” Ethan’s voice floats between the cubicle walls. I grumble a little, then do as he suggests. I refresh my browser again, and there it is.

BY FAMILIES, FOR FAMILIES: BAKER’S BLEND HAS HISTORY AND HEART

It’s not my best title. I was too busy writing the damn article to come up with a good pun, so I settled for alliteration. I hear Ethan hum disapprovingly on the other side of the cubicle wall.

“It’s fine,” I mutter. Then, I raise my voice so he can hear me. “It’s catchy.”

“I mean…” He drags out the word and trails off, implying that he doesn’t agree.

I roll my eyes just as he pops up over the cubicle wall. He does it so quickly, the wall jiggles dangerously. One of these days, that thing is going to come crashing down. Maybe this whole place will come down with it. That’d be the day.

“Did you see the photo?” he asks, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

I grimace in disgust. “You really need to stop objectifying him. It’s starting to get weird.”

He tilts his head. “Sex sells, honey. But if you don’t want my help…” He shrugs and lowers himself back to his chair.

“I love you and need you and you’re the best photographer in Baker’s Grove,” I call in a singsong voice.

“Think bigger, Emery,” he singsongs right back.

“The nation? The world!”

“That’s more like it,” he says. It’s really too easy to soothe that man’s ego.

I scroll down past the bold headline and the first teaser paragraph of the article. Only because Ethan suggested I take a look. Not because I need to see what made him waggle his eyebrows like that. I certainly do not.

The picture takes up almost the entire width of the browser, and as soon as I see it, I gasp. Ethan lets out a satisfied “Mmm-hmm” from the other side of the wall. I want to scoff at him, but I can’t even manage it because my heart is in my throat.

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