Page 20 of Steeped In Problems

Kristy worked the front with a speed that bordered on the supernatural. “Who’s next for caffeine and poor life choices?” she’d shout, her voice somehow reaching both ends of the shop and cutting through the noise. Her smile didn’t falter. She traded jokes with the regulars, smuggled extra cookies to cranky toddlers, and always managed to be exactly where someone needed her at any given second.

Tanner tried to match her pace, but he was fraying at the edges. The register kept sticking on cash transactions. Someone had spilled a bottle of syrup, turning the bar floor into a skating rink. There was a shortage of clean mugs. Every time a ticket printed, he felt his pulse spike.

Somewhere in the background, Emily sat in a corner booth, eyes locked on her tablet and the controlled chaos around her. She didn’t talk to anyone. She just watched, logging every botched order, every minute someone waited in line, every time a customer left with a frown instead of a smile.

By 12:45, the lunch rush ebbed to a trickle. Tanner’s shirt was clinging to his back, and his hands shook when he tried to pour himself a glass of water. He caught Kristy glancing at him, concern in her eyes, but he just shrugged it off and wiped down the counter with extra force.

Emily set her tablet aside and beckoned them both along with Rhonda with a two-fingered gesture. “Five minutes,” she told them. “Window table.”

Tanner nearly ordered her to wait, but Kristy was already in motion, heading to the big table by the window. The light spilled over the laminate, making everything look harsher.

Emily didn’t waste time. She slid the tablet to the center and tapped the screen, bringing up a series of graphs, charts, and color-coded blocks.

“Let’s talk performance,” she started. “You’re selling out the pastry case daily, but your drink margins are abysmal. Yesterday, you wasted more than a pound of beans on mis-pulls and remakes. That’s sixty dollars out the window before lunch.”

Tanner bristled. “It’s a new machine. People are still learning?—”

Emily cut him off. “Then train them. You’re not running a charity. Even your best days barely cover overhead.”

She turned to Kristy, her tone softening by a fraction. “You’re great with customers. But you’re taking too long to close out transactions. There are bottlenecks at the pickup bar. We lose efficiency every minute someone has to wait for a to-go order.”

Kristy’s smile faltered, just a hair. “I’m working on it.”

Emily nodded like she’d been expecting the answer. “Good. Because the numbers don’t lie, we’re at risk of missing projections for the quarter. And that puts your shop in the bottom twenty percent for new franchisees.”

Tanner’s jaw locked. “We’re building a base. The town isn’t even at peak season yet.”

Emily flicked to the next slide. “That’s an excuse. You know who doesn’t make excuses? Our Glenwood Springs and Aspen. They started out smaller, but they’re both doubling your per-customer ticket within the first six months.”

“Those towns aren’t like this one,” Tanner shot back. “Clear Mountain isn’t some ski bum paradise. Most of our customers are just trying to keep the lights on right now.”

Emily smiled, but it was a brittle thing. “Maybe. But they’re still choosing you. And you have to give them a reason to come back.” She folded her hands, the picture of businesslike composure. “Which brings me to your shop’s vibe. It’s...fine, but it’s stale. There’s no identity. You’re not the quirky hangout, you’re not the high-end spot, and you’re not even the only place in town with free Wi-Fi. What makes Brave Badge different?”

Tanner opened his mouth, but Kristy beat him to it. “The hero wall,” she asserted. “The way we remember people. The way we actually know our customers’ names. That’s the difference.”

Emily arched an eyebrow. “It’s not enough. Not if you want to keep the doors open.”

She let that hang for a moment, then swiped to a layout mockup on her screen. “I propose a new workflow. Move the register to the left, increase the prep space, push the pastry display closer to the entrance. Create a clear path for to-go customers. Streamline the back bar so no one has to reach over each other.”

Tanner’s fists clenched under the table. “That’s not going to work. It took me weeks to get this setup right. You don’t even know the building?—”

Emily looked at him, her gaze as cold as her tone. “I ran my own location for two years, and I managed a location for another one, plus did audits on another half-dozen, which is why Joe asked me to do this. I’ve seen every version of these problems,and I’ve fixed most of them. If you don’t trust me, trust the data. Or you’ll be on a list for ‘possible restructure’ by Christmas.”

Kristy coughed into her hand, then asked, “Do we really need to change everything? Can’t we just improve what we have?”

Emily softened her voice, but only slightly. “You can’t fix a sinking ship by bailing faster. Sometimes, you have to patch the hull.”

That was it. Tanner snapped. He stood, palms flat on the table. “This is my shop. I built it. I know what works for Clear Mountain, and it’s not another chain with plastic smiles and fake personalities. We’re real. We make mistakes, but we own them.”

Emily didn’t flinch. “Then, own the financials. Because right now, you’re burning cash, not earning it.”

Tanner’s face was red hot by this time. “You want to run the place, be my guest. But I’m not gutting what I made just to hit some corporate target.”

Emily stood, too. She was shorter, but her presence filled the table. “That’s exactly what you have to do, unless you want to see your dream fail inside a year.”

The two of them locked eyes. No one spoke.

Kristy broke the silence. “Maybe we could try some of the suggestions for a couple of weeks. See if they work. If not, we can always go back?”

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