by CC Dragon
“That doesn’t matter anymore. I have to make sure Gran is okay. She took care of me when it wasn’t her job. I have to make sure she’s safe.” I envied that Katie knew who her dad was, even if he hadn’t been in her life too much. He’d left her his life insurance and she’d met him before he’d passed.
I could sulk about my parents all day, but I never let myself. I shoved it away and focused on what I could do. Gran had a good space and some loyal customers. We could grow that without alienating her base.
“You’ll take great care of her. I just don’t want you to get stuck in what people thought of your mom or how your gran does things. You’re not retirement age. Change is part of life and you have good ideas. You don’t have to settle for what people give you or the hand you get dealt. You’re better than that,” Katie said.
“You can think that, but we both know people judge. Remember the Andersons? Their son was cooking meth and blew up their trailer? The whole family moved to the west end of the state and put the boy in rehab. People still talk about the trailer-trash family with the meth-cooker kid,” I reminded her.
“They raised a meth head. You did nothing wrong. Your gran did nothing wrong. Don’t let them make you feel second-class. Annabelle, I’m serious, don’t get sucked into the senior center or geriatric set because you’re doing right by Gran. You’re still young.” Katie was always good for a pep talk.
“Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “If you need help at the bar, I’m there. It’ll be the best excuse to get me around young people. If it’s to help you, Gran won’t mind a bit.”
“No help needed right now, but come by tonight and have a little fun. Call it training for busier times. I need your opinion on a new band I’ve been letting play. I love music but have no talent for picking it. I enjoy it all. You’ve got the best taste and some skill.” Katie took a long drink of her coffee.
“Good girls play piano,” I repeated one of Gran’s many mottos. She’d done her level best to mold me into a proper southern lady so I’d be less likely to get criticized and belittled for my mother’s bad choices. I couldn’t help that I had a little talent and a lot of love for music.
When I’d gone off to college, there’d been bets that I’d never come back, like my mom. That or I’d fail in the music scene and return hooked on drugs or pregnant, possibly both. I’d beaten the odds so far.
“I can’t play a tambourine. Drinks are on the house,” Katie offered.
I shook my head. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll be there for the music and friends.”
“Good. You look like you need a little fun.” Katie stood up. “You have room to store things back here. If you find a good gently used coffee machine and start with some supplies…see what takes off. You can expand slowly. It’s stressful at times, but you’ll always be tinkering and refining as trends change. That’s the business,” she said.
“You’re right. I think of Sweet Grove as never changing, but with the Internet and a million TV channels streaming on phones and all that, we’re not cut off. People here want to try new things and be trendy,” I said. “I can do this.”
“Good. I have to go do some inventory. See you later.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’ll sneak out the back. Your gran’s group of men always has to chat.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic and went out the front with my coffee cup.
“Where’s Katie?” Gran asked.
“She went out the back. I guess she has to do inventory today. We’ll catch up more later.” I refilled my coffee and found myself agreeing that tea would be a good option. There was a pot of decaf, but some flavor options wouldn’t be too radical. Heck, the gas stations around here probably had that.
“She’s planning something. I can see the smoke coming out of her ears,” Joe chuckled.
The bell rang and we all turned.
“Good morning, Pastor,” Gran said.
The man was young for a pastor, thirty at the oldest. Not bad-looking at all. He had light brown hair, blue eyes, a lean build and a calm demeanor.
“Good morning, Mrs. Baxter. I heard you had an addition to your family.” The pastor looked at me.
“Oh yes. Belle, this is Pastor Luke Nelson. Pastor, my granddaughter, Belle Baxter. She’s back. She went to Atlanta for college and worked to build up her experience. Now she’s joining the family business.” Gran beamed.
I held out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Pastor.”
“Very nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you Sunday with your grandmother.” He held my hand tight and it felt very genuine.
Gran jumped in before I could answer. “Actually, I was thinking about that. You said last Sunday that you need someone to play the piano for the choir. Belle is a great piano player.”
“Really?” The pastor smiled at me.
“I can play piano. I’m probably a little rusty. I didn’t even have room for my keyboard in Atlanta. I practiced a bit when I could,” I admitted.
“Why don’t you drop by choir practice tomorrow afternoon and we’ll give you a try? Music is always pleasing, and the more the merrier,” the pastor said. “Three o’clock at the church.”
“Sure, I’ll see you then.” I couldn’t say no. I loved playing music and helping out wasn’t the problem. Being on display for the town to see and judge? That made me a bit queasy.
Chapter Three
Good girls go to church, not bars…
Gran’s words nagged at me while I parked at the Honey Buckle. I’d had to remind her that Katie owned the bar and had plenty of bouncers. Katie had three half-brothers from her mother’s subsequent marriages and they were all football players who didn’t let anyone mess with their sis or her business. People called them Huey, Dewy and Lewy, but they were Harry, Dave and Lucas.
I’d remembered to put on some dangly silver earrings and a charm bracelet a boyfriend from college had given me. The extra feminine touches kept Gran from fussing about one more thing.
Walking into the bar, I waved at the familiar faces. A few returned the greeting, but some looked me up and down and glanced away. Cattiness didn’t end in high school.
The Honey Buckle was huge. Tons of tables filled the space to the walls, except for a large stage for live bands, and the jukebox in the corner. The bar section was toward the back with a hall beyond that most people never noticed, where they had a small kitchen and restrooms. The round bar had the usual stools all done in cherry wood. Above the bar and around on the walls were guitars and posters for rock and country music performers. The place served young and old, as long as they had ID, and it was the best spot to have fun in Sweet Grove.
I headed for the bar and found Katie serving up beer and enjoying herself. She had her hair up in a ponytail with a black cowboy hat cocked on her head, matching the black T-shirt she wore that displayed the bar logo.
Hopping onto a free bar stool, I checked out the specials.
“Hey, you actually came out. Good!” Katie said with a bit more surprise than I’d expected.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” I asked.
“You had a long first day. I’d have given you a pass tonight to catch up on sleep,” Katie said.
“Longer than you know. The pastor came in and Gran suggested I play piano for the choir or whatever.” I sighed.
“You love the piano,” Katie said.
I checked out all the stuff she had behind the bar. “I do, and I’m happy to help, but I need to focus on the business. I came up with a short list of new additions I can offer with minimal supplies.”
“Cool. You better charge for them,” Katie said.
“I will, and regular or decaf coffee will be one dollar with any purchase or three dollars without purchase, no more freebies,” I said.
“Good. The travel cups are a good size, so it’s fair. Free refills?”
“On regular coffee? Naturally, I’m not a monster. I can’t let people take advantage of Gran, but if they stick around and buy more stuff, free co
ffee is fine. A fancy coffee machine is expensive, but I can do some smoothies to start,” I replied.
“We have an extra blender, if you want to borrow it. Most people don’t want foo-foo drinks. But you’ll have to lend it to me for Cinco de Mayo. Margaritas are a big seller then,” Katie offered.
“You’re the best! I’m going to have to run into Nashville to get some cups, straws, coffee flavors and teas. At the least, I’ll splurge on an extra coffee maker for now, a smaller one for the decaf. There aren’t a huge number of decaf drinkers, but Gran has those big industrial coffee makers. Love them, but that’s a lot of decaf,” I said.
“You’re always thinking, Belle. If there’s anything I can help with, let me know. But some cold brew pitchers and stuff can’t be too bad. My distributors don’t sell coffee and such, but napkins and stirrers I can front you,” she offered.
I hugged her over the bar. “Thanks, but I don’t want you supplying me. I can do this. I saved up some money working in Atlanta. It’s not super cheap to live there, but I’ve never been a party girl or fancy.”
“Starbucks connections?” Katie suggested.
“I’m not copying their menu, but if I get on their radar trying to use their discount or anything, I could get my old manager in trouble…or end up with them watching me to be sure I’m not ripping them off.” I wasn’t looking for trouble.
Katie shook her head. “You’d never do that. Honestly, who isn’t doing fancy coffee these days? Fast-food places have crazy coffees. But you’re too Goody Two-Shoes. Fine, but at least take some stirrers and napkins. I get a bulk discount, but most people here order beer, so the stirrers only get used with fancy girly drinks.”
A cute male bartender leaned over. “Miss, what can I get you?”
“Sorry, Adam, this is my best friend in the whole world—Belle Baxter. Her grandmother owns Baxter Preserves. She drinks for free,” Katie said.
“No,” I countered.
“She’s the boss. What can I get for you, Miss Belle?” Adam asked.
“Water with lime, please.” I grinned.
“Please don’t be a brat,” Katie said. “Cherry Coke. Rum when she’s being adventurous.”
I was predictable. “No rum tonight, thanks.”
Adam fixed my drink and I tucked a five-dollar bill in the tip jar.
“Brat,” Katie said.
Adam moved on to tend to other patrons.
“He’s cute,” I said.
“So is his girlfriend. High school sweethearts.” Katie mocked sticking a finger down her throat to mark the grossly perfect couple. “Oh, the band is setting up. Check them out!”
Katie wiped her hands, grabbed her tablet from the back shelf and turned off the music playing throughout the bar. The jukebox in the corner was apparently just for show.
Katie ran over to the alcove of a stage on the far side of the dance floor.
“Good evening and welcome to the Honey Buckle! Live music three nights a week. The best country and blues digital jukebox every night. Line dancing for newbies is on Mondays, so if you want to learn, we can teach you. Tonight, it’s a newer band for us, but you keep wanting them around. Snakebite!” Katie announced.
I applauded and there were hoots and hollers, even a few whistles. It was an all-guy band and the lead singer was worth looking at, with his longer hair and muscled arms. He played guitar. The band also had a bass player, along with a guy on keyboard and one on the drums. They were all good-looking men, but it was the guy on the twelve-string who caught my eye.
He stood a bit apart from the rest of the band. He didn’t look at the crowd but at his guitar. Tall, dark and handsome was such a cliché, but he was over six feet tall with brown eyes and short dark-brown hair. He was nicely muscled and his face was chiseled and serious. Jeans, cowboy boots and gray T-shirt—I couldn’t fault him in the wardrobe department either. Simple, but he didn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed. He’d look great straight out of bed too, but he wasn’t too rumpled with rips in his jeans or shirt. Picky girls like me wanted a certain amount of ‘a good guy’ with a dash of ‘can be a bad boy when needed’.
They were well into their first song when Katie came by to sit next to me.
“Like?” she asked.
“They’re good. They can play,” I teased.
That was a proper compliment. Everyone in or anywhere around Nashville thought they were the next big thing in country music. Everyone played or sang or something.
“The band came down from Kentucky, but they’re good. They’re nice to open it up to bring in a guest,” she said.
“Who is the guest?” I asked.
“Gus, on the twelve-string. He’s new in town. A new deputy, but he hasn’t officially started yet. Handsome and single. All the girls are drooling,” Katie said.
“Can’t blame them,” I said.
“You should go for it.” Katie nudged me with her elbow.
I snickered. “Please, you should go after him. You’ve got a great business and you’re the prettiest girl in town.”
Katie glared at me. “We both took a lot of crap as kids, but no one ever called us ugly.”
“Exactly, and now you’re successful and love music.” I sipped my drink.
“You can actually play music,” she teased.
I shook my head. “I’ve got my hands full now. Men, I don’t need that to juggle too.”
“Soon enough you’ll have a handle on things and you’ll wish you’d have pounced when he was new in town. He won’t be single for long,” she pointed out.
“You’re saying that I should grab him and reel him in before he knows about my family and reputation?” I asked softly.
“Ugh, I’d never. Your mom screwed up, not you. Your dad is a dead-beat sperm donor but you’re a good person,” she said.
“We both know that’s not how small towns work. I tried leaving, but I won’t be my mom. I won’t abandon Gran. Speaking of, I should go home. She won’t really sleep until I’m home,” I said.
Katie rolled her eyes. “We’re not in high school anymore. You’re grown and can go to a bar with your friends.”
“I know. But I have a couple errands to do and an early morning. No fuss, testing out some things for now. We’ll do your grand reopening once I’ve got some things sorted.” I hugged her and downed the rest of my Coke.
* * * *
The next morning, I was at the shop early with all my supplies. I blended up a batch of smoothies and put them in little sample cups. Writing up a sign for the smoothie options and pricing, I heard the door.
“Belle, what is the rush?” Gran asked.
The smell of fresh baking was wonderful. “We’re going to change things up a bit. It’ll take two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Smoothies?” she asked.
“You said people were asking. I’ve got some teas too, but we’ll start with these. And one other thing.” I went over to the coffee and started the pots, but I took down the free coffee sign.
“Annabelle,” Gran said.
I put up a new sign that said Coffee With Free Refills, One Dollar With Purchase Or Three Dollars, then grabbed the cups and moved them behind the counter.
“It’s not unreasonable,” I replied.
She put out her signature biscuits and some cinnamon raisin bread.
“People won’t be happy,” she said.
“Gran, you have a loan to repay and the house will need a new roof in a few years. If you want to bake for charity or for church gatherings for free, that’s fine. This is a business. If anyone flies off the handle, you send them to me.”
“The boys aren’t wrong about social security. Pension and investment stuff is different, but earning money is capped,” she said uneasily.
I turned and grabbed both of her wrinkled little hands. “You said you wanted me in on this business too, right?”
“Of course. It’s our business. Baxter is on the sign,” she said.
“Then we can cha
nge how the business is owned if you get anywhere near that earnings cap. If we co-own it, then you only claim half the profits,” I explained. “Problem solved.”
“But if you make it very successful…” She trailed off.
“When we’re in high cotton, you retire, keep hanging out with your boys here as much as you want and help out if you like, but I take it over legally and you’ll still get your social security. Then we’ll definitely have enough to cover the roof, the loan, and ongoing expenses.” I hoped it’d be that simple.
“You don’t have to do this. My loan and my house, they’re my expenses,” she said.
I went to the door and flipped the sign. “That’s not how family works. You’re not asking me to pay rent. Our house, our business and our expenses. Now crack open those preserves.”
The door opened and Mr. Jones walked in with his two pre-teen daughters.
“Dad, come on,” Addie whined.
“I need biscuits. The wife is out of town,” Mr. Jones said to Gran.
“Cinnamon raisin bread today, too, girls,” Gran announced.
The girl had their eyes on their phones with earbuds in.
“Charging for coffee now?” Mr. Jones dropped a bill on the counter. “Smart. Keep the change.”
I handed him a cup and travel top. “Mr. Jones, haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. We can do a hazelnut or caramel flavor shot too,” I offered.
“I’m good with black. That’s a good call, Belle. Girls, look up. Smoothies.” He tapped his daughters on the shoulder.
“No way,” Allie said.
The two girls, a year apart in age, acted like twins and were clearly among the cool girls.
They tried the samples. “Nice. We need four.”
“Four coming up.” I fired up the blender.
Gran’s jaw dropped once the customers were gone.
“That’s a lot of money for some blended berries and milk. And they took four,” she said.
I smiled. “The more customized and personalized we can get, the more we can charge. They probably wanted to get some for friends—being in on a new thing is very teenager.”
