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Next up was taking my first step towards cross promotion and working with local businesses—there was nothing I could do about opening as yet, with so much to be done, but breaking for lunch was as good a time as any to network to make connections for later on.
I folded my draft menu and tucked it into my coat pocket, stepping out into the icy lunchtime air. My destination was JJ’s Coffee Shop, a local favorite, with small round tables, and at the back, a collection of mismatched but comfortable sofas and low tables.
As I pushed open the door to JJ’s, the rich aroma of coffee and the sound of quiet chatter welcomed me, and I spotted the owner—Abby—behind the counter, her hands busy with a steaming latte that she slid toward a man on his phone. I waited until he left, then dived straight in.
“Morning,” I greeted, approaching the counter with the friendliest smile I could muster.
Abby glanced up, saw me, and her smiled dropped and her expression became guarded. “Good morning,” she said. I remembered my first day in town, when Fox and I had popped in for coffee, and she’d been a lot more friendly; although, she now knew who I was, and what I intended on doing.
I bet there wasn’t a single person in town who didn’t know I planned to re-open the diner.
I got straight to the point. “Noah Bennett, from the diner, Lily’s great-nephew.” I held out a hand, and she shook it before sliding a finished coffee to a young woman on her phone waiting at the end.
“I know who you are,” she said with a neutral expression. I waited for her to offer her name, but it was on her tag anyway.Abby. Manager. And I knew she owned the place as well.
“Hi, Abby, it’s nice to finally talk to you properly. You have a lovely range of pastries and pies.” I was being overenthusiastic about the anemic-looking fruit loaf and cupcakes that had barely any icing, but I liked the apple pie right next to them. I hoped it tasted as good as it looked, with crumbling pastry and packed full of apples and the colors of cinnamon. “Who does them for you?”
She paused, her eyes narrowing. “The pies are mine; we outsource the rest, of course. You don’t have to ask who supplies them so you can steal the ideas, you can google for local suppliers.”
I didn’t launch into my list of culinary skills, or my awards, or that I’d once worked for one of the most famous restaurants in Columbus as resident pastry chef.
Instead, I took a deep breath. “I’m not here to replace what you do with what I’m doing, look… I was thinking… what if I offered to do pastries for you? For free, initially to test the market. I’m looking to supply pastries and desserts to other outlets once the diner opens.”
Abby’s suspicion was clear. “That sounds exactly like your dinerisgoing to compete with my coffee shop.”
I shook my head, eager to reassure her. “Not at all. We’re focusing on breakfast, light soups and sandwiches for lunch, and a rotating dinner menu, opening at six and then, closing each night at seven. Nothing like what you offer here.” I dug into my pocket and pulled out the handwritten menu. “This is what I plan.”
She stared down at the note, smoothing it out and reading it line for line. When she was done, she was still hesitant, but I knew it had to reassure her.
“You blend your own coffee right?”
She considered this for a moment. “Yes, why?”
“Well, I’d like to offer your coffee in my diner, if you are agreeable, with your advice on whether the machine we have is up to the job, and the best way to prepare it, but only to go with food, not for people to take out, because it’s great coffee.”
She stared at me as if she couldn’t quite understand. “Wait, so in exchange, you’re suggesting you supply me with pastries?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Obviously, it would end up a formal agreement with balanced costs and so on, but for now, my aim with the diner is to bring something unique, based on my experience. Fresh, homemade pastries and desserts for you, something to complement your amazing coffee, but upfront I would agree, in writing if you need me to, that the things that sell here for you, on a takeout or eat-in basis, would not be offered at the diner.”
Abby’s expression softened, and she glanced down at the menu. “Working together on this, not against.”
“Absolutely.”
She thawed a little then. “Would you like a coffee; can we talk between customers?”
“Only if the coffee comes with a slice of your pie.”
She smiled then, cut me a huge piece of pie, added cream, and as I carried it to a table, she made us coffee, and at last, she joined me at a table with a view of the counter. “All right, Noah. Let’s hear your ideas. But no promises.”
Gratitude washed over me. “Thank you, Abby. You won’t be disappointed. I plan to open early March, so we can talk some cross promotion there if you like…”
Leaving JJ’s after talking ideas for an hour or more, I felt at least some sense of purpose for what I might be offering in this small town. My first stop was the grocery store, where I was lost as to what to make Abby first. I was one hundred percent behind the concept of farm to table, always using fresh local ingredients, but this was a tiny grocery store in a small town. Local honey was displayed at the front, and my head swam with possibilities for a pastry with honey… perhaps a honey-infused croissant or a sweet honey tart. As I wound my way around the tiny store, everyone I met stopped to chat to me—about the diner, about Lily—but I was lucky it was just three people who’d braved the falling snow, so I managed to get back to the diner without too much delay.
Back there, I inspected the ovens I’d cleaned, switching the smaller of them on so I could ensure they were up for the task ahead, and then, set out all the ingredients. Washing my hands, prepping the area, weighing produce, I was in the zone, and I lost myself in working up ideas, only stopping when the bell above the door jingled and I turned to see Fox locking the door behind him, then trudging in, his school backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Fox,” I called out, but he barely acknowledged me, heading straight to his room. His mood wasn’t good, but somehow, today, it was darker than just the teenage thing he had going on. What had upset him? Was it Briggs? His papa had taken to messaging Fox at the weirdest of times, despite our agreement that he stay away from both of us.
I bet it was Briggs.
