Page 7 of Steeped In Problems

His phone buzzed. He checked the ID and nearly didn’t answer, but habit won. “Blaze here.”

The voice on the other end was gravelly, low, and unmistakably East Coast. “You sound like you need a cup of your own medicine, son.”

Tanner exhaled. “Joe. Didn’t think you called before noon.”

“Time zone, buddy. And business waits for no one,” said Joe Griffin, owner and founder of Brave Badge Roasting. “How’s my favorite cop-turned-caffeine-pusher?”

Tanner cradled the phone between his jaw and shoulder, glancing to make sure Rhonda hadn’t wandered back in. “Things are...fine. Busy most mornings. Still working out the kinks.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Joe’s tone shifted. “I got the latest reports. Your numbers aren’t where we need them, Blaze. Not even close.”

Tanner’s jaw tightened. “It’s only been two weeks.”

“Two and a half,” Joe corrected. “You know what they’re doing at the Glenwood Springs shop? Double your take with halfthe square footage. And don’t get me started on that new one in Kansas.”

Tanner could feel the blood rising in his neck. “I hired good people. We’re not wasting product. It’s just slow. It’s the off-season for tourists—most of our traffic right now is regulars, and they like to linger.”

Joe laughed, the sound dry and a little cruel. “Listen: you’ve got two more weeks before I send someone out to ‘evaluate and assist.’ You know what that means.”

“Yeah,” Tanner said, his voice flat. “I know.”

Joe softened, just a touch. “I didn’t bring you into this to set you up to fail. But you gotta treat this like a job, not a retirement hobby. Get the numbers up, or I’ll have to make some calls.”

“I’ll handle it,” Tanner assured him.

There was a pause on the line, the kind that meant Joe was considering a pep talk but couldn’t find the words.

“Good man. Tell Rhonda and the new girl I said hey,” Joe finished and hung up before Tanner could reply.

Tanner stared at the phone for a long minute. The urge to throw it was strong, but he tamped it down. Instead, he closed his fist around the receiver, white-knuckled, and set it gently on the counter.

Across the shop, Kristy was wiping down the condiment bar, still humming.

He walked over to the espresso machine, hands steady but heart going double-time. The world outside was still cold, still sharp, but in here, there was work to be done.

He started grinding beans for the next pot, each movement harder and faster than necessary.

This wasn’t the badge he’d trained for. But it was the one he had left. He’d do whatever was necessary to make it count.

Chapter Three

Kristy had started to count on the mid-morning lull. Every shift, right after the school stampede but before the lunch crowd trampled in, Brave Badge turned into her own personal spa. She’d rest her arms on the bar, breathe in the cinnamon haze, and watch the sunlight fall in shimmery rectangles over the hero wall. Rhonda always used the lull to “take her break,” which meant twenty minutes of scrolling Facebook in the stockroom. Kristy didn’t mind. She loved the quiet, the routine, the way nothing chaotic could happen when the place was nearly empty.

The only customers were a mother with a baby who mostly napped and a guy in flannel who was either writing a novel or tracking a murder board in his spiral notebook. Kristy wiped down the counter for the third time, refilled the sugar caddy, and tried to ignore the way her mind kept racing to intriguing thoughts about her boss, Blaze.

The door opened, and she looked up out of reflex. The group that walked in next didn’t belong to the regular world of lattes and laptop campers. She recognized them instantly, even without the uniforms: Dr. Patel, in a North Face vest and wire-rimmed glasses; Nurse Gomez, high black ponytail, badge stillclipped to her belt; and Mike from the ER tech crew, shoulders hunched as if he was still battling a stubborn blood pressure machine.

For a microsecond, Kristy considered ducking below the pastry case, but she froze, caught somewhere between fight and flight. It was the first time since quitting County General that she’d seen any of them outside the fluorescent hospital haze.

“Oh my God, Kristy?” Nurse Gomez called, already halfway to the register. “Is that you?”

“Hey, yes, hi,” Kristy greeted, unable to keep her voice from shooting up an octave. She willed herself to stay planted, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight her knuckles went pale. “Wow, you guys are up early for people who don’t have a shift.”

Dr. Patel gave her a slow once-over, his eyes lingering on her Brave Badge apron, then flicking up to her face. “You look...different,” he observed as if someone had swapped her out for a rundown model.

“She looks fantastic,” Nurse Gomez jumped in. “You’re glowing. Barista life must agree with you.”

Mike didn’t say anything. He just stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, studying the floor. Kristy remembered that about him—never the first to talk, but always the first to notice when something was wrong.

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