“Yes, of course. Oh, and Brandt? Good luck when that brew hits the other end.”
He’s gone before he can even draw his next breath.
“I don’t want to talk about Brandt Remington the Third,” Violet announces, locking the door behind him. “So don’t even ask.”
“Brandt Remington the Third?” I laugh. “Poor bloke was bound to be a cunt. No getting ‘round it with a name like that.” I retrieve the keys from my apron and hand them over. “Anyway, I’m pleased to report thatmytea-brewing days are officially over, but yours most certainly are not.”
“Jury’s still out on that.” She blows a breath into her curls and collects the kettles and cups from the counter, carrying them into the kitchen. When she returns, she double-checks her bottles and jars, turning them this way and that, carefully putting everything back in its exact right place.
I watch her straightening and polishing, spraying down the counter, cleaning everything to a high shine. She’s meticulous and focused, leaving everything she touches better than how she found it.
Yet the pride of a job well done isn’t enough to bring the smile back to her face.
“I’ve got some thoughts for your consideration,” I say softly, “if you’re ready for them.”
“Ah, yes. The official assessment from my best-of-the-best consultant.” She tosses a towel over her shoulder and takes a seat at one of the counter stools across from me, drumming her fingers nervously. “Let’s have it, then.”
“The good news is… It’s not the product. Your teas are fabulous, even without my added contributions. And who doesn’t love a scratch-made scone with genuine clotted cream?”
“My sister Emmilou makes them for me. She traveled to London and took classes from some famous pastry chef.”
“It shows. And the location? Prime real estate. Plenty of pedestrian traffic, easy to get to on foot or by car, ample parking to boot. And you’ve definitely got the witchy, kitschy, cat-loving, pumpkin-spice vibe on tap that makeseveryonewant to believe in magic, so put that in the win column.”
“I’m… not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but—”
“It’s just the facts, mushroom. You have all the ingredients you need for a successful tea business right here. The thing that’s holding you back isn’t the product or the place or even the competition, as much as Mean Beans is a thorn in our side.”
“Then whatisthe problem?
“Simple.” I spread my hands and grin, like,ta-da! “It’s… you.”
“Okay, nowthatsounds suspiciously like an insult.”
“Tell me something. Why do you craft your teas?”
At long last, the smile returns, and behind her glasses, the spark in those blue eyes re-ignites. It changes her whole face, top to bottom. Even the way she holds herself is different now—sitting up straight, shoulders squared, tall and proud. Happy. “I do it because I—”
“Stop. See, I don’t even need the words.” I circle her face with my finger. “That look says it all. Tea is your absolute passion. Your purpose. The most natural expression of your magic. Even the act ofthinkingabout it lights you up from the inside out.”
Emotion glazes her eyes. “Yes! That’s exactly it. Goddess, you get it.”
“I do. And that’spreciselywhere we need to start. Not with a marketing plan or a budget review or a social media strategy. But with you. Yourwhy.”
“My what?”
“No, yourwhy. Why you’re doing this. What inspires you to wake up at dawn nearly every morning, work yourself to the point of exhaustion, drain your bank accounts, and keep going day after day when the going gets tougher and tougher, all for a chance to share your gifts with Wayward Bay. Basically, all the stuff that’s in your heart, waiting to be unlocked.”
“You’re losing me here, Dev.” She shakes her head, thumb tracing a groove in the countertop. “People come for the tea and the food, first and foremost. The vibes, yes, that’s a close second. But no one cares that it’s my passion. My purpose. Mything.”
“Then it’s your job to make them care.” I reach across the counter and grab her hands. “Having a business that serves the public—whether it’s tea or a restaurant or sketching caricatures on the street… it always requires a bit of a performance.”
“I can’t be fake, Devlin. That’s not who I am.”
“You don’t have to be fake. Some of us excel at it, not to name names,ahem, but more often than not, the most successful businesses are those whose proprietors find a genuine way to channel their passions and present some aspect ofthatto their customers. Whether it’s an author writing a story they personally relate to, or an actor borrowing from a devastating real-life experience to better portray a grieving character, or a tea witch infusing a bit of her unique magic into every cup… People connect with authenticity, Violet. But you’re almost preventing them from doing it.”
“I am?”
“You’re literally hiding out behind the counter. Yes, you talk with some of your neighbors, but when the tourists pop in, you keep your head down and do it like it’s a job.”
