Page 24 of Steeped In Problems

“Blaze,” Aiden answered, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s Kristy,” she said, “but yes, everything’s fine—unless you count the fate of the Brave Badge hanging in the balance. Can you make it to an emergency meeting tonight? Seven sharp.”

Aiden didn’t even pause. “I’ll be there. Do you need Lindsay to come?”

“Bring everyone you can,” she encouraged. “We need brains and muscle. And snacks.”

“Copy that. We’ll see you tonight.”

Next was Hayley Hall Bishop, the owner of the local paper, who picked up and started talking before Kristy even said hello. “Hey, I’m about to go in to work, so make it quick.”

“Can you swing by the Brave Badge tonight at seven? It’s urgent. Like, possible-life-or-death-for-this-place urgent.”

Hayley’s tone sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

Kristy told her the fast, short version and waited.

Hayley didn’t sugarcoat. “Do you have a spreadsheet with numbers? Or are we just brainstorming?”

“I’ll have everything ready. Can you bring some of your newspaper crew and your husband’s SWAT team? They all drink caffeine like water, so they know the value of this place.”

“I’ll try. But you owe me a good story to pitch them with.”

Kristy grinned. “I guarantee this will be front-page news.”

Call three: Zach Turner. He answered with, “What’s up, Kristy?”

“Operation Save the Badge is a go,” she stated in a conspiracy-laden tone. “Can you make it to the BB at seven tonight?”

“Only if there are donuts,” he teased. “But yeah. I’ll bring Erica. She knows some people with cash. Should I wear my uniform or go incognito?”

“Uniform, obviously. We need all the hero cred we can get to get the civilians on board. Spread the word.”

“You got it. See you then.” Click.

As her final move, she grabbed her phone and fired off a rapid group text to everyone else she knew in town.

“Hey heroes, emergency meeting at BB tonight. 7:00p.m. Be there, or I’ll steal your badges.”

She set the phone down, then snapped open the dry-erase marker and scribbled “Fundraiser Planning Tonight” on the counter whiteboard, adding little siren emojis for effect.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Kristy poured more coffee than she thought physically possible. Every order was a chance to drop hints about the event: “Tell your friends.” “Bring your family.” “There will be cookies and coffee.” She taped flyers to the to-go cups, then to the front window, then to the nearby light posts around the park.

Tanner watched her for a long time. At first, he kept to the back, eyes dark, but by noon, he started catching her ideas andtossing them back. “If you want to get the firehouse on board, you need to bribe them with breakfast burritos,” he informed her, topping off a customer’s cup. “It’s the only food group they trust.”

“Done,” Kristy said, writing it down.

“And make sure the bake sale isn’t just sweet stuff. People buy out the savory stuff first. Meat pies, sausage rolls—anything with cheese sells out before the brownies.”

She scribbled, “Tons of CHEESE,” in all caps, then looked up at him. “You’re good at this, you know.”

He shrugged, but she saw the small, proud twist at the corner of his mouth. “We all pitched in for community events.”

By two, Kristy had filled three pages in her notepad and had already started a fourth. She spent the last hour before closing prepping a box of sample pastries, “for bribery,” she told Rhonda, who responded by baking two extra lemon loaves and pre-slicing them into squares for “maximum snackability.”

By 4:00 p.m., the place had emptied out. Tanner counted the register, his posture a little taller than it was that morning. Kristy cleaned the bar with a kind of energy that only came from pure adrenaline and the knowledge that, tonight, they might actually have a chance.

She looked at the clock. Three hours was just enough time to get everything ready for the meeting. She pushed the tables into a big, awkward circle. The pastry case was cleared and refilled with leftover muffins, cheese rolls, and one “emergency cake” from the back freezer. A whiteboard sat at the head of the formation, the bottom lined with markers and more dry-erase stains than clean space. She’d brewed three giant carafes of coffee, each labeled “Mild,” “Leadfoot,” and “High-Octane Deathwish.”

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