Rocky smiled and nodded. “There’s more than one way to get a product to market. The middleman model is one. But if you already have the relationships with the growers, and you already have a broker who handles the logistics…”
“I know where you’re going.” Jo held up a hand. “And I appreciate it. Let’s talk later.”
Rocky raised his cup. “Whenever you’re ready. I think an all-female supply chain with your brand story is marketing gold.”
“That’s what I think, too. Now I need to make it happen. I want to see Cuppa Jo’s coffees in the best stores.”
More customers walked in, and Hugo eased out of the booth. He dropped his cup and plate in the bus tub and came around the counter to give Jo a hug.
“I’ll stop by the house before leaving for school. Thanks for everything.” He grabbed his backpack and nodded at Rocky on his way out. “Take care of my sister.”
“So when do we start?” Rocky asked, draining his coffee.
“I need to think about it and get everything together. Can I call you?” She wasn’t entirely sure about sharing everything with Rocky. Still, he could bring a fresh perspective.
Rocky scribbled his phone number and email address on the back of a diner card. With another broad smile, he added, “See you around. Soon, I hope.”
“Maybe so.” She had no time to lose, yet she was still hesitant.
Jo watched him leave. Rocky had asked how she sources her beans. In all the time she’d known Blue, he hadn’t seemed that interested. Had he ever asked for details? Not that she could remember.
Hank and Sherri took two stools at her counter. “Good morning,” Sherri said. “Do you have any of that special dark roast today?”
“For you, of course. Coming right up.” She opened a bag of beans she called Sumatran Empress. The dark roast, wet-hulled beans came from a women’s cooperative on the island of Sumatra in Indonesia. This coffee was bold and heavy with dark cacao, cedarwood, and clove.
When the coffee was ready, she slid the cups across the counter.
“This will jolt you out of bed,” Hank said, raising his cup.
Jo smiled. She’d chosen this with Blue in mind. “This one is for the night shift workers—the police, firefighters, and hospital staff. They get it right before closing when they’re heading in to work.”
The way she saw it, the Queen’s Blend was an excellent quality coffee for everyday folks. It was several steps above most diner coffee. The Sumatran Empress was for the night shift and those who wanted a strong jolt. The Imperial Kona Reserve was for the premium shelf. Every bean was sourced by women, and their stories were on every package.
She thought she could market and sell this line to specialty grocers from San Diego to San Francisco. All she needed was one, she figured.
Maybe she’d jumped into this project too fast, but that was how she’d always done things.
Like the diner. Best decision she’d ever made. Otherwise, she’d still be waiting tables at a beach bar.
Later, when there was a lull after the breakfast run, Jo checked her phone. No messages from the manufacturer, and no calls from Blue.
Cuppa Jo’s stood at the corner of Orange Avenue, the main thoroughfare, and Summer Street. She poured herself a cup of the Empress and drank it standing by a window, staring down Summer Street toward Blue’s house at the far end where the street met the sand.
She wondered when a short distance had become so long.
5
Blue was parked near the marina in his cruiser, finishing a hamburger that wasn’t nearly as good as those at Jo’s diner. He was trying not to think about her when the call came in.
There was a disturbance at the Majestic Hotel. He was on a Code 7, or break, but since other officers—and there weren’t many on Crown Island—were busy, he put his half-eaten burger back in its wrapper.
As a Patrol Sergeant, his job was to manage patrol operations on Crown Island. That also included on-scene emergency responses, mentoring new officers, and completing field reports.
He enjoyed what he did, especially mentoring rookies. The police force was small, so he could have a large impact, both within the force and on the island. While this wasn’t the high-stress urban crime he’d encountered in Chicago, the island still had its share of crime and domestic disturbances against the sunny skies and ocean views.
He drove down Orange Avenue past Cuppa Jo’s on the corner of Summer Street but kept his gaze away from the wide windows. It had been a few days since he’d sat in her kitchen eating cold enchiladas.
Blue pulled into the Majestic’s circular drive and parked near the porte-cochère. Ryan Kingston’s recent renovation had breathed new life into the Victorian hotel. Its white exterior and red roof gleamed against the cerulean sky.
