He motioned to Jo. “You look busy. Better make that coffee to go.”
Jo put her hands on her hips. She wasn’t going to put up with this from Blue, especially when she’d done nothing but have a little fun with her customers and staff on a harried Friday night. Besides, what did he do in Chicago? Why was he so busy he couldn’t call her?
She squared her shoulders. “As you wish, officer.”
4
As the sun rose, Jo rode her beach cruiser toward the diner. This time, she took the beach route, watching the white gulls soar over sparkling blue waves as a pink and yellow sunrise lit the sky.
She passed several runners, including Deb Whitaker, a successful interior designer on the island, running on the beach with her dog, Duke.
A morning like this set a good tone for the day, Jo believed. She stashed her bike in the hallway outside her small office and checked her email. The only messages at this time of the morning were usually from her food vendors.
A woman in her twenties approached her. “Good morning, Jo.”
“Hi, Candy. How was business yesterday?” Jo had taken Sunday off, although she’d worked on her business plan most of the day at home, getting a lot done on her quiet patio.
“We had a good day,” Candy replied. “I printed out a report for you on your desk.”
“Thanks.” Jo was pleased that Candy was already excelling in her new position.
In her office, she slipped into her red-and-white striped Cuppa Jo’s shirt, admiring the new shirt in her narrow full-length mirror before she went out. The new outfits for her staff were also part of her next-level plan.
Which had seemed easy before she got to the execution part. She was more than a little concerned about how it was going. In fact, if she couldn’t find solutions fast, she was in danger of falling behind on her loan payments. Everything took longer and at a greater cost than she’d planned.
Behind the red Formica counter, Jo began what she did every morning before the breakfast rush. She checked the commercial brewer’s temperature, met with her staff, and oversaw produce and other food deliveries.
Her shoes squeaked on the clean, black-and-white tiled floor.
In the kitchen, the grill was heating for the rush of bacon and eggs. She’d already assembled bananas, leafy greens, and protein powder for smoothies. Deb would be in for hers soon after her run.
Behind the counter, the small countertop roaster was warming up. Sleek and compact, it was nothing like the loud industrial drum roasters the big operations used. Jo had chosen it for that reason. She wanted her customers to smell beans roasting while they ate their breakfast.
It was part of the Cuppa Jo’s experience.
The steady hiss of the brewer was the only sound in the place. She liked this quiet time of the day.
The only other person in the dining area was Hugo, his lean frame slouched in a booth near the window with textbooks, a laptop, and a cup of coffee.
Her kid brother had driven from San Diego, taken the ferry, and crashed at her place after school on Friday. She usually saw him when he needed to do laundry or have a good meal.
The door chimed, and Rocky Bay walked in wearing running shorts and a tank top that showed off well-built shoulders. He was up early for someone who didn’t have to report to a job.
“Good morning,” she said. “Welcome back to Cuppa Jo’s. The shake machine lasted all night, thanks to you. You brought it back to life.”
“It wasn’t much. I was happy to help.” Rocky slid onto a counter stool. He looked like he’d already been for a run. “Please tell me you have coffee ready.”
“I have the best coffee in town, and it will only take a minute.”
She scooped beans into her Lavazza coffee machine, a sleek Italian model she bought at a deep discount from a restaurant in San Diego that was closing. It soon yielded a rich brew with hints of caramel and roasted almonds.
She placed the cup in front of him. “See what you think. If you don’t like this, I have others.”
Rocky wrapped both hands around the red cup with a Cuppa Jo’s logo and took a long, slow sip. He closed his eyes. “Wow, that’s another good brew.”
Jo smiled. “One of my new ones.”
“I lived on coffee in graduate school,” he said. “I had so much bad, burned coffee that I became quite discerning. It drove my roommates nuts.”
