by CC Dragon
The kitchen was now the fanciest room in the house, with stone counter tops and a new stove with a lot more buttons. Plus, a new fridge, microwave and a new kitchen table. The colors were apple red and a cream that looked lovely, but none of it hinted at a bargain.
“Gran, did the insurance pay for all this?” I asked.
“No, but there was smoke damage and the appliances were getting old anyway. I got a little equity line of credit from the bank. I got a better deal when I bought all new appliances from the store together in a bundle. New washer and dryer in the mud room too,” she explained.
I shook my head. “You said the business wasn’t turning a big profit right now,” I said.
“I know. I’m not senile. This is my home. I need to be able to cook and wash my clothes. While I was having things repaired, it seemed like the best time to replace what needed replacing. We’ll talk about the business tomorrow.” She yawned and put the mop back.
“Okay. I’m going to try to get some sleep.” I hugged her and the familiar smell finally signaled that I was truly home.
“Night, dear. I’ll bring Duke into my room so he won’t bug you.” Gran patted her thigh and the dog followed.
“Good night.” Once I heard her door click shut, I set the gun down carefully then slung the strap for my duffel over my shoulder. Thinking ahead, I poured myself a glass of water, flipped off the light and picked up the gun with my free hand.
I closed the door to my room and locked it. Carrying a loaded gun when tired should be illegal. I put the water down on the nightstand then tucked the gun under my bed. Finally, I dropped the duffel on my bed.
“Darn, my purse!” I went back out to my truck and grabbed my purse from the front seat.
I slammed the door to my truck louder than I meant to. Luckily, we had a few acres of land so the neighbors wouldn’t be bothered. I made sure my doors were locked and headed into the house, locking the doors behind me. Atlanta living had made me a compulsive door locker.
Back in my room, I felt twelve again. Not much had changed. I had an old guitar hanging on the wall for decoration. My old keyboard sat on the desk. The queen-sized bed had a wrought-iron secondhand frame and a gently used mattress from an estate sale.
We’d never been made of money. I wanted to strangle whoever had talked Gran into those expensive appliances. Sure, they may have been due for replacing, but high-end fancy was more than she needed. I wanted her to have the best of everything, but no job I could get in Sweet Grove would provide that sort of income. That was why I’d stayed in Atlanta after college, so I could work my way up and send her money.
I had some college loans to pay back too, but I’d been frugal and made use of every scholarship and program I could. Gran would insist the house and her preserves shop weren’t my problem, but who else was there?
No one.
I fought off tears and changed from my boot-cut jeans, gym shoes and T-shirt norm into a sleep shirt advertising my alma mater. After unpacking a few basic outfits and my makeup bag, I used a wipe to remove my makeup. It was a delicate thing—Gran never wanted me made up like one of those pageant girls, but going out with nothing was practically as bad.
I’d found a good balance. Hospitality required a good face without looking too flashy.
Pushing back the peach quilt, I noticed my nails needed a fresh painting. But should I bother? Here, I wasn’t around clients like in a fancy hotel. What really mattered now? I wasn’t sure—except for Gran, of course. I had a few friends I was eager to see and plenty of others, like the sheriff, who I was fine not running into.
My head hit the pillow and I said my prayers. Grateful for not getting a ticket and not getting shot. Sorry for all the awful things I felt about the people who’d swindled my gran with that kitchen. I’d fix it all the best I could, but the worst was yet to come.
The business was a cute little preserves shop with fresh baked goods that varied by Gran’s mood. People popped in and ordered preserves, but most swung by for breakfast treats. It’d been a nice notion when my grandpa was alive and had made good money as a plumber. He could fix just about anything. When he’d died, the insurance had covered what was owed on the house and the cars plus funeral expenses. Gran had widow’s social security, a little pension and zero debt until this lovely credit line fiasco.
Was the business helping or hurting Gran’s overall finances? That was the question.
Then again, life wasn’t only about money. Was my presence here just another reminder for Gran of my mom who’d bailed—no cards or calls in over twenty years—who should be here taking care of her mother? I didn’t want Gran suffering from having to protect or defend me—I could take care of myself, but the roles had to be different this time. I was here to take care of her—whether she liked it or not.
Chapter Two
Duke barking and scratching at my door woke me a couple of times, but I was tired enough to roll over and go back to sleep until nine. Clearly, Gran hadn’t managed to keep him in her room all night.
It wasn’t my habit to sleep in, but nothing about yesterday had been normal. I’d needed a decent night’s sleep to face the day ahead.
I shuffled into the kitchen, expecting a puppy nipping at my ankles, but apparently Gran had put in a dog run and Duke was outside enjoying the good weather, bird sightings and exercise.
Once I’d gotten coffee in my system, I found a note on the kitchen table.
Belle, went to the shop. Breakfast is the busiest time—people drop in before work. Come by for breakfast and we can talk about the shop. Or you can just say hi to everyone! Love, Gran
After a shower and careful hair styling and makeup, I put my suitcases in the house. I checked that the dog had a huge bowl of water and a backup bowl in case he tipped one over. The weather wasn’t going to be too hot today, plus part of the run was covered to give him shade, and I figured he’d be happier outside than in.
Less destructive at least.
In my big suitcase, I found an old messenger bag and loaded it with my tablet, my dainty purse, a refillable water bottle, a notebook and pen and my phone charger. I slung the bag across my body and tucked my phone into my pocket.
The drive into town was quick, but the streets were busy now. Lots of cars and people all over—nothing like Atlanta, but that was a nice change. I parked around back by Gran’s little sedan and went in through the door marked for deliveries.
The kitchen was only partially used in the old bakery. She did preserves in big batches based on peak fruit harvests but the baking she did at home and brought in. I wasn’t great at canning or baking, but Gran had made sure I could cook well enough.
My dream was to open a B&B around here for tourists visiting Nashville who wanted a small-town-feel option. The city could be crazy, expensive and dangerous in some areas. My place could offer day trips to the city with plans for food, things to see and all designed for the people’s interests. Kids or no kids? Music or history?
That was just a dream. For now, I had to handle what was in front of me. I found the office and flipped through the stacks of receipts and monthly statements. Gran used a basic system and had someone do her taxes. She printed out everything monthly in case something crashed so I didn’t even need to snoop for a password.
The numbers weren’t terrible, but the profit was slim after expenses. Frankly, I was shocked she was turning a profit. Odds were good that she wasn’t reporting all her expenses.
I went back to the summer last year and a few months were in the red. Hospitality might not seem like a normal college degree for some, but we did cover a lot of business classes that I really valued now.
My stomach declared that breakfast was late and I headed to the front. The space behind the counter was nicely laid out. The preserves were shelved on distressed wooden racks on one side of the dining area. There were only five round tables with four chairs at each. The strawberry and blueberry tones trimmed the oak shelves and counter. It was a pretty shop
with big windows that faced Main Street.
Opposite the shelves was a big old coffee maker with two pots full and to-go cups, sugar and creamers. A little sign proclaimed Free Coffee For All Customers.
Gran was living in another era.
The counter next to the preserves had biscuits in a warmer along with some homemade muffins. Another little sign offered a breakfast special of two biscuits with preserves for two dollars. Not outrageous, but add in the free coffee and she was shortchanging herself big time.
“Belle, finally. Did you sleep well?” Gran asked.
She was sitting at one of the tables with four old men.
“Yes, I just had to catch up and take in my suitcases. It’s sort of quiet here,” I said.
“You missed the rush when everyone is off to work and school. It’ll be a trickle of people at most for the rest of the day. Some kids come in after school, but it’s a morning rush. Like a bakery,” she said.
Like a bakery, maybe we should stock more baked goods? Have order forms so people could order ahead for meetings, weekends in, or whatever? I kept my thoughts to myself for now. Changing everything all at once would only upset Gran.
She turned to her admirers. “This is Freddie, Joe, Milan and Abe. They like to hang out here and keep me company.”
“Nice to meet you. Retirement has its advantages,” I said.
“And its disadvantages. If you earn too much money, they cut your social security.” Freddie shook his head. “You should know that, if you’re here to help with the business.”
“I see. Is that why you give the coffee away, Gran?” I asked.
“Get yourself some biscuits and eat. You’re always crabby when you’re hungry,” Gran said.
“We don’t just take up space. If more people come in, we give up the table. We make sure no one runs off with a jar and doesn’t pay or no one takes coffee for free without a purchase.” Abe tipped his baseball cap.
“How kind.” I dished up two biscuits and slathered on strawberry preserves, then sat at one of the stools along the wall and the counter that ran around the seating area. That layout maximized how many people we could seat, but we weren’t filling it. That was as good as it could be.
“The boys also help me when I do fairs and such around the county. Help me carry things and set up tables and talk me up,” Gran said.
“That’s very nice of them.” I got myself some coffee.
“Are you going to work here with your Gran?” Joe asked.
“Of course she’s here to help me, but I don’t need a babysitter. I told her she could keep her fancy job in Atlanta. One little fire doesn’t mean I need a keeper,” she said.
“We helped clean all that out too,” Milan bragged and tugged on his brown suspenders.
“Aren’t you a peach? But there’s a lot to consider. This earnings cap for social security. The line of credit to remodel the kitchen at home. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I can help here until I figure it out. I have to get up to speed.” I saw so much room for expansion and improvement.
“Too bad there’s no Starbucks for you to work at. Or a hotel,” Freddie teased.
“That’s a shame. People love fancy coffee,” I replied.
“The young people come in sometimes and want funny coffee drinks. And smoothies too. And tea.” Gran chuckled.
“At a preserves shop? They can get that stuff a couple towns over. Coffee shop or something. Ridiculous prices,” Milan commented.
I studied the space. There was plenty of room behind the counter for a big coffee machine and blenders. We already had the fruit connections, but smaller buys for daily smoothies could work. Flavorings for coffees, vitamins shots as well. It would just expand things. Chai and other teas would be good too.
Smiling, I let the older generation debate what coffee should be. Gran was a purist about black coffee, nothing added. Most of her men liked at least a little sugar.
Thankfully, the bell over the door rang, and it was Katie!
“Thank God you’re back!” Katie ran over and hugged me.
I hugged her and refused to cry. “I’m so glad you never left. You’re a sight for sore eyes!”
We started talking at the same time as if we were teenagers again.
“Why don’t you two take your breakfast in the back and chat? We can’t hear ourselves talk,” Gran suggested.
I refilled my coffee and got one for Katie.
I hadn’t had a lot of friends growing up. My mom’s reputation, coupled with her running off and leaving after she had me, had left a mark. Most of the kids I’d gone to school with had been steered away from me by their parents. Small towns had long memories.
Katie’s mom was around but had been married and divorced multiple times, so we were sort of the kids from those types of families. She hadn’t changed a bit. Long brown curly hair, slim and tall. Full-on cowgirl with boots, jeans with a shiny belt buckle, tank top that advertised her bar and funky western jewelry.
“So, how are things?” she asked.
I shrugged. “The business is barely turning a profit. Gran redid the kitchen at home with all pricy stuff.”
“I saw that. She was determined to buy quality.” Kate rolled her eyes.
“It is, but you can buy a quality brand without all the fancy upgrades. That’s done and all I can do is see about the line of credit and those terms. Here, I think we need to make more money. Coffee options and smoothies are a good start, and people are asking for them, but…” I trailed off.
“But?” Katie prompted. “People are dying for fancy coffee and teas. It’s like micro-brews and stuff. At first no one admits they want something other than good old American-brand mass-produced beers, but once they try it…”
Katie owned the Honey Buckle, a bar on the edge of town. There was live music and fun! Her dad had passed suddenly not long after we’d graduated high school and his life insurance had all been paid out to her, so she’d put it into something she loved—entertaining.
Talk about judgment, a single woman owning a bar…but she’d proven herself. She’d worked hard and people in town had to admit that at least her father had acknowledged her, even if her parents hadn’t stayed married. Her daddy had provided for her and she hadn’t blown it on anything stupid. She had a thriving business.
“You’d know about the town and what sells. I just have to sell Gran on it. Plus, figure out the social security thing,” I said.
Katie frowned. “What about it?”
“There are earnings caps, I guess,” I said.
Katie waved her hand. “For your gran. You can retitle it into your name or joint ownership. Change things. If the business is in only your name, you can make all the money you want and take care of Gran. Just pay her a salary just short of what would start to erode her benefits. Sad that people have to play games to get what they paid into the social security system and to make a little more so they can have a decent life. It’s not like it’s a gift from the government.”
“I know, but that’s not the worst part. She might not want to give up ownership,” I said.
Katie sipped her coffee. “One thing at a time. You turn this place around and get it to bring in big money, then show her how she can keep her checks. I mean, she paid into the system and so did your grandpa, and you can make the business mega profitable. Win-win.”
“I could pay off the bank line she took out. They don’t care where the money comes from. But I’ll need supplies, machines, and it’s not cheap to do it right,” I said.
“It never is. You have to have the vision and believe in yourself. The first year I had the Honey Buckle, I barely hung on. But the right music, the right beer options and the right feel and people showed up. They keep showing up. You can make that here too. Coffee is far more socially acceptable than beer,” Katie reminded me.
I smiled. “It’s just not my business. I have to convince Gran. But what else do I have to do? I don’t know of any jobs around here. Not making wh
at I need with skills that I have.”
“Well, you can always pick up some shifts at the bar. Waitressing you can do and I can show you the ropes of bartending,” she offered.
“Thanks, and if you need me, I’m there. I won’t take the work from someone else, though. I need to focus on the problems at hand,” I admitted.
“You get the equipment and supplies. You get a new menu, charge for coffee and all that. Up the prices to something normal—not Atlanta, but reasonable. Do a one-per-person free fancy coffee drink promotion—print up coupons or something. Have some non-coffee frozen drinks so kids can have them too. Oh, make up signature drinks based on your customers. Have a big grand reopening day. I’ll help. I can get some of the girls who waitress to pitch in too. The bar can’t be open at seven a.m. Not in this county.” Kate flashed a big smile.
“Thank you!” I hugged her.
“What else is wrong?” she asked with the instincts only a best friend for decades would possess.
I released her and focused on my food. “Sheriff pulled me over last night. I was going too fast, but no one was out. I had to pee. I was late and worried about Gran. It’ll be all over town later today.”
“It already is, but who cares? He let you off with a warning,” Katie said.
“Back again and already in trouble. Already getting pity.” I sighed.
Katie sighed heavily. “Stop listening to what people say. It was childish crap when we were kids and the parents…they were jealous of our moms. My mom didn’t stay in a bad marriage. Granted, she got married six times and never seemed to get it right, but she didn’t stay and let herself or her kids get abused or poorly treated. She believed she deserved better.”
“Brave. Nothing wrong with being single,” I said.
“True. Your mom followed her dreams. She’ll be back someday.” Katie nodded.
What were best friends for? She’d been saying that since we were six years old. Twenty-one years later, she couldn’t really back off on it now. Rumor around town was that my mom had had a dream of making it in the music business and hadn’t wanted to be tied down by a kid.
