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The two women, each headstrong and particular in their own way, share a look. A glance with a certain heat behind it, not so hot as to be a flame, but perhaps embers that could ignite with time. My heart sings for Rosie. The woman that gave so much for me only to lose it all in one stormy night.

“What is bothering you, dear?”

I pause, trying to collect my thoughts. “Have you ever been scared of your future?”

A small crease forms between her brows. “Many times.”

“How did you manage? Knowing that something… big lies ahead?”

“Hmm…” She takes a minute to think, pausing her polishing. “Have you ever made bean brew?”

“Yes, I love—”

“No, no, dear,” she cuts me off. “I mean, truly made it from the start?” She retrieves a burlap bag from under the counter and pours green beans onto the counter. “These are the beans we use to make bean brew.”

“But they’re green?”

Rosie smirks and snatches up the bag. “They haven’t been roasted yet.”

I follow her to the hearth, where a fire is crackling, and watch as Rosie sprinkles some of the beans into a cast iron pan.

She hands me a wooden spoon. “Stir the beans for about fifteen minutes, until you hear cracking. I need to finish my polishing.”

I nod, knowing not to ask many questions when Rosie gets like this. Perhaps it’s from our years together at the Rose & Raven, or perhaps it’s because it’s early and the bean brew already smells delicious. After some time, the beans grow darker, and the chocolate and cherry aroma is mouthwatering.

Rosie comes to check on my progress. “Good.” She grabs the handle with a towel and carries it to a table where a stone mortar and pestle lay waiting. “Now we pour the beans into the mortar. Use the club here to crush them into small pieces.” She pulls out a chair. “Go on then.”

“Alright,” I say hesitantly and take a seat. After a few minutes, the beans are ground into small pieces. My stomach grumbles as Anita’s sourdough bread bakes in the kitchen. “I’m done. Now what?”

Rosie sets a glass jar on the table and gently places a funnel shaped contraption on top along with a small cloth. “Now we boil the water.”

I follow her into the kitchen, eerily similar to the Rose & Raven, though the dust and stains along the walls suggest that Rosie has something to do with the new layout. My lips purse, hiding the giggle that’s tempted to release. I’m sure Anita is really loving all of Rosie’s unsolicited feedback.

After a few minutes, the pot is brought to a boil. “Bring it back out to the table, dearest.”

I do so, because defying Rosie’s orders is a sure way to be tasked with additional chores, whether or not I work here. I watch as she carefully puts the crushed beans inside the funnel atop the jar.

Rosie wipes her hands on her apron. “Final step, pour the hot water over the cloth filter—slowly! Easy goes it—yes, that’s it.”

I inhale the comforting aroma of bean brew while the water slowly filters through the cloth. Once the jar is full, Rosie sets aside the funnel.

Anita joins us with three mugs.

Rosie pours us each a steaming cup.

I take mine gratefully, savoring the rich flavor as I take my first sip.

Rosie watches me keenly.

“What?”

“You had asked me how I manage a big task, daunting or otherwise.”

“Oh, right.” I scratch the top of my head.

Anita chuckles softly into her cup, not in a patronizing way, but rather enjoying observing Rosie at her best.

“Sometimes, when things seem impossible,” Rosie says, leaning forward and cupping the steaming mug with both hands, “you need to break the task into smaller pieces—and whenever possible—lean on your friends. You’ll be surprised who will be there for you, even on your darkest days.”