The Solid Grounds Coffee Company

by Carla Laureano

  “It’s nice.” Then he seemed to realize why she’d gotten the pedicure and lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask. How was the date with Adrian?”

  “It was fine.” She stared at the tip of her suitcase peeping out of the X-ray machine as if she could will it to move faster. Then it got sucked back in for a second look. She sighed. “It was good, actually. The Cellar is a great restaurant.”

  “I see.” He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “You going to see him again?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  There were a million ways she could answer that question. It wasn’t a good idea to mix business and personal. She didn’t have time for dating. The truth was, there just wasn’t any spark. But she was reluctant to state it that flatly, because it would only draw attention to the fact that she was feeling sparks toward the one person she couldn’t act on them with.

  “He drives a Tesla,” she finally said. “The expensive one.”

  A smile quirked up the corner of his lips. “You have something against electric cars?”

  “No, the car is fine.” She rolled her eyes while she tried to explain. “Everything about him was just so calculated, you know? I mean, he’s gorgeous and he’s actually a nice guy. He doesn’t need to try that hard.”

  The suitcase finally got released from security purgatory and slid down the rack of rollers toward her. She was so focused on getting it and her purse off the rack and out of the way that she almost missed the expression that flitted across Bryan’s face. Once more, it looked suspiciously like jealousy. Because she commented on Adrian’s looks? Come on, anyone with eyes could make that determination. It wasn’t a preference; it was just a dead-on fact.

  “I asked him how he knew you, and he said he was one of the kids crowd at your parents’ functions.”

  “Yeah,” Bryan said. “He always stunk at pool.”

  “Still does,” Ana said, and they both laughed, the tension broken.

  Bryan’s backpack finally came through the machine, almost the exact opposite of Ana’s Vuitton luggage—it was battered green nylon, the seams held together by duct tape, the bungee laces starting to fray across the back. The irony of criticizing Adrian for being concerned with appearances struck her. No, not irony. Hypocrisy. How was she any different? She fixed images for a living. She crafted her own to display exactly what she wanted to show the world. The designer duds, the expensive car, even the French luggage. Bryan, on the other hand, had never pretended to be anything other than what he was. Even when she didn’t necessarily agree with or like that person, he was a hundred percent honest about himself. And now that he’d changed, he was honest about that too.

  “What’s it like?” she asked as they moved away from security and down the sloping ramp to the A concourse, where they’d pick up the train to their gate.

  “What’s what like?”

  “Coming back and starting over. Being a different person.”

  Bryan considered it seriously. “Hard. Everyone expects me to act like I did before, and when I don’t, they figure I’m working an angle.”

  “That must be frustrating.”

  “It is. But it’s no less than I deserve.” At her sharp look, he said, “No, I’m not punishing myself for my past mistakes. I just mean that we have to accept the consequences of our decisions. At least until we manage to completely reinvent ourselves and convince everyone else.”

  “Yeah,” Ana said softly. “It takes longer than you think.”

  “I’m finding that out,” he said with a smile, and she was grateful he didn’t push further.

  Given how early it was, security had taken them almost no time at all, and they were at their gate a full hour before their flight left.

  “I’m going to grab some coffee. You want anything?”

  Ana plopped into one of the seats at the gate. “Just a drip. I’ll watch our bags.”

  “Are you sure you want a drip? This is airport coffee. You might want to dilute the taste a bit.”

  “A latte, then.” Ana laughed. “You’ve become a coffee snob, huh?”

  “Of course; I’m a third-wave artisan roaster. Or at least I will be if this trip is successful.” He dropped his backpack on the ground beside Ana’s suitcase. “I’ll be right back.”

  Ana watched him go, surprisingly pensive. He never ceased to surprise her. She’d known him for two years, so she’d thought she had his number. But she was beginning to feel that there was a lot more going on inside that he didn’t let on. Yes, he might be honest. But he wasn’t exactly transparent. For all the illusion of shallowness, she figured she hadn’t even come close to seeing the bottom.

  Bryan came back a few minutes later with two paper cups and a white paper bag. He handed over the coffee and then pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle.

  “What’s that?”

  “Spinach and egg-white wrap. I couldn’t remember whether you ate wheat or not, so I went with the gluten-free tortilla. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Thanks,” she said, surprised. “I eat almost everything, but that was thoughtful. What did you get?”

  “Sausage and cheese. Though if you prefer this one, I’m willing to trade. I was making no comments on your figure.”

  Ana laughed. “I didn’t think you were. And you’re right. When I’m not with Rachel and Melody, I eat very clean.”

  “You’d have to with those two as friends,” Bryan commented. “Speaking of . . . Do you think they’d do a trial run with our coffee at Bittersweet?”

  “Of course. I’ve already asked. They say send them the beans when you’re ready. They also asked about display signage, so we’re going to want to get on that pretty quickly.”

  Bryan paused with the burrito halfway to his mouth. “I don’t even know where to begin with that.”

  “Don’t worry; I do. Or at least I know someone who does.” She’d done enough marketing work on the side to have a pretty good handle on the graphic designers she could depend on. Before she moved over to the crisis management division, she’d worked a lot with smaller companies who really needed a full-service marketing firm, not just a publicist. But she’d kept them at Massey-Coleman by finding independent contractors who could do the work for a fraction of the cost.

  That was another reason her leave rankled. She could guarantee not another associate in the business had gone to that sort of trouble. And now they were getting her clients. Never mind that she didn’t particularly like them. She’d laid all the groundwork, so it wasn’t fair for someone else to get all the credit.

  If she were going to have to start over with her list anyway, what was to keep her from going back to the business publicity department? Even better, what was to stop her from pitching a marketing arm to Lionel? She’d already been doing a fair amount of strategic marketing with her publicity clients. The firm might as well get paid for it. It would expand the business, something that Lionel was always looking to do.

  And Solid Grounds would be the perfect proof of concept. She would handle all the marketing and publicity, build as much buzz as possible, and use that as her case study. An example of what she could do when there was a consistent vision applied across a company’s communications.

  “Ana?” Bryan asked, looking into her face curiously.

  She realized she was chewing the burrito mindlessly. “Sorry. You got the wheels turning. I need to get all of this written down while it’s fresh in my mind.”

  “You know, there’s still the issue of the value of your advisory shares,” Bryan said quietly.

  “I know. But I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “You’ve done a lot. I’m thinking—”

  Ana waved a hand. “Nope. Not yet. Once I actually do something worth paying me for, we’ll discuss it. All I did was get you a meeting, and I would do that for any friend. You’re the one who gave a great presentation, and you’re the one who convinced Adrian to invest. As far as I’m considered, my sta
ke in this is still zero.”

  Bryan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press, which was good because her mind was on other things—all the work they’d need to do in a short time to get this business off the ground.

  Which was exactly where her mind belonged. On work. And off him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  BRYAN AND ANA ORDERED an Uber at the St. Louis Lambert International Airport and went directly to meet the seller, who was located on the edge of the city just off I-70. The car dropped them off in the center of an industrial park in front of a sign that said Fourth City Roasters. A Closed sign hung in the window.

  “That doesn’t look promising,” Ana said under her breath.

  “Why else would he be selling?” Bryan countered, though inwardly he’d been thinking the same thing. It was always depressing to buy equipment off a failed business, like picking over a carcass left to rot in the sun. He slipped his backpack straps over both shoulders and nodded to Ana before walking with purpose toward the front door.

  It was unlocked, so he pulled the door open and they stepped into the cool, dim interior. The scent of char still hung in the air, though from the looks of things, they’d been out of business for a while. The front of the unit had been set up like a small coffee shop, but the bar had already been gutted of its espresso machines and refrigerators, just leaving the hull of a countertop and an empty bakery case.

  “Hello?” Bryan called.

  A moment later, an older, bearded man hustled out from the back of the office space. “Hallo. You must be Bryan. I’m Louis.”

  Bryan shook his hand. “Louis from St. Louis?”

  “What can I say, my mom had a sense of humor.” He turned and extended his hand to Ana. “Louis Lamont.”

  Bryan saw the corners of Ana’s mouth twitch against a smile, but she wrestled it down. “Nice to meet you, Louis. Can we see the roaster?”

  “Of course. Come with me.” He jerked his head over his shoulder and then moved with the same bound-up urgency with which he’d appeared. They followed him into a big, open bay that resembled Bryan’s space and stopped before a large barrel-chested machine.

  “Here it is,” he said. “Twelve-kilogram, double-walled drum roaster, electronic variable gas settings, USB data logging.”

  “How long was it used?” Bryan asked.

  “Less than a year.”

  “Do you mind me asking why you’re selling?”

  Louis shrugged. “I used to roast as a hobby out of my garage, and when I retired, I needed something to do. But it’s a pretty big leap from roasting a kilo for your own use to hundreds a week. Just never got off the ground. Problems with the roast, problems with the bean suppliers. Honestly, it all became too much work.”

  That statement was almost a relief. So many times, people jumped from the hobby to the business without understanding what it took to succeed. Granted, Bryan had yet to successfully roast his first batch of beans, but at least he had experience with the larger drum roasters and he had been smart enough to bring in someone like Ana to help. He had no illusions that this was going to bring him a quick influx of cash . . . he’d be happy to cover his expenses while he got it off the ground. The words thirty-six and living at home haunted him every time he walked through the door of his parents’ mansion. By thirty-six, Mitchell Shaw had developed his first downtown block. To say Bryan was working against a deficit would be an understatement.

  “Can we see it in action?” Ana asked.

  “I don’t have any beans, but yeah, we can turn it on.”

  He began twisting the knobs and flipping switches, which fired the gas jets that lay in a long line beneath the now slowly rotating drum. He stepped back for Bryan to look.

  He got in there and squinted at the color of the flames, fiddled with the air intake valve. “You have a match or a lighter?”

  Louis dug in his pocket and handed him a Zippo. “My wife’s always on me to quit.”

  “Your wife is right.” Bryan flicked the lighter and held the flame in front of the intake until it started to waver toward the open space.

  “What are you doing?” Ana murmured at his shoulder.

  “Adjusting the draw.” He looked at the flames again. Blue with just a tip of yellow meant it was burning the right amount of oxygen.

  “You have the probes for this?” he asked Louis.

  “I do, but I don’t have my laptop here. It does connect via USB, though.”

  “Good.” As long as it had the capability to transmit the readings from the temperature probe to his profiling software, they were in business. Bryan turned on the fan and the cooling tray agitator, which were meant to stir the beans in a circular motion to stop the roasting and cool them.

  “Can I flip on the afterburner?” Bryan asked.

  Louis nodded.

  He flicked another switch on the metal vent, and the afterburner flared to life midway up the exhaust. This was meant to burn off the chaff before it reached the outside air. Denver’s air quality regulations meant that he’d have to do something to cut down on the amount of smoke and debris his operation put out, and the afterburner was the most efficient way to do so.

  “Okay,” Bryan said. He turned off the gas and shut down the roaster. Everything looked to be in perfect operating condition—another reason he’d chosen to go with a model he was familiar with. Had he not known exactly what a fully operational roaster of this model looked and sounded like, he wouldn’t have known if he was getting a good deal or not. Part of wisdom was knowing what you didn’t know. “You’re asking twenty thousand?”

  Louis nodded again.

  A calculating look flashed across Ana’s face for a moment, a sure sign she was thinking about how to work the situation. Then she sighed. “Listen, every dollar Bryan has is tied up in this business. You know we’re serious if we came all the way out here, but I really hate to pay more than seventeen for this. Of all people, you should know how hard it is to get a roasting business off the ground. Three grand can make or break us at this stage.”

  Louis looked between them, considering, for a long moment. Then he nodded. “What if we split the difference? Say, eighteen-five?”

  “Okay,” Bryan said. “You have a deal.”

  Louis beamed and shook his hand. “Perfect. So, the next question is, how are you getting this out of here?”

  They finally settled on an agreement to have Louis get it prepared and crated for transport, and Bryan would return the next day with the truck to pick it up. In less than an hour, he’d secured the centerpiece of his roasting business, for fifteen hundred dollars under budget. Ana and Bryan exchanged pleasantries with Louis for another minute and then walked back out the front door.

  “Well, well,” Bryan said. “Where did this ‘honesty is the best policy’ Ana come from? I thought for sure you were thinking of ways to spin the story for a better deal.”

  “I was, but it just didn’t feel right.” Ana grimaced. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. Making me grow a conscience or something.”

  Bryan nudged her with his elbow. “Would that be so bad?”

  “If it had cost you fifteen hundred bucks, it would be,” Ana shot back, but she was smiling.

  “I just hope we can actually get it on the truck. I have no idea how he’s going to get it on a pallet. It must weigh a thousand pounds.”

  “Which is why you didn’t pay for it now,” she said. “Aren’t you glad you brought me along? You would have paid his asking price without blinking.”

  She was right, and that was exactly why he’d brought her along.

  Okay, not exactly.

  “We have an entire day now. What do you want to do?”

  “Eat,” she said without hesitation. “What are our options around here?”

  “I only know one thing, and you’re probably not going to like it.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “Barbecue.”

  Ana laughed. “I could go for some barbecue. When in St. Louis,
right?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he teased and saw the answering light of challenge in her eyes. She could make a competition out of anything.

  “Okay, doubter, you’re on. Get us an Uber, we’ll drop our luggage at the hotel, and then we’ll find the best barbecue place in the city.”

  * * *

  The Uber driver dropped them in front of their hotel, an all-suites sort of place that catered to business travelers. Once the receptionist checked them into their rooms—on different floors, no less—they went their separate ways to drop their bags and freshen up.

  Ana set her bag on the tiled bathroom floor and made a circuit of the hotel room to assure herself it was clean and bedbug free—one couldn’t be too careful—and then paused in front of the full-length mirror on the closet. The woman in the reflection looked like Ana, but had it been her, she would have never appeared so uncertain.

  “Where did this ‘honesty is the best policy’ Ana come from?” Bryan’s words came back to her with uncomfortable clarity. Was that what he really thought of her? That she was a liar? Yes, she could spin with the best of them—it was a requirement in her line of work—but she’d never really thought of it as dishonest.

  “Gah!” The syllable came out as a grunt of frustration, and she spun away to retrieve her hairbrush from her bag. She pulled the sticks from her bun, which had started to look more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and brushed out the tangles furiously. Why was she torturing herself? This was Bryan she was talking about. Part of the reason they got along so well was because they could accept the other person as they were. She never needled him about his past conquests, and he didn’t voice whatever his opinion of her job might be.

  Now she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

  A text from Bryan buzzed through her phone: Waiting in the lobby. Should I call an Uber?

  She typed a quick reply: Sure. Be down in 3.

  Time to get a grip, Ana. She shoved the sticks back into her bun, which was only marginally neater than before, grabbed her handbag, and marched out of her room before she could do any more ridiculous second-guessing.