Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Finn
“Frank! Frank no—”
THUD .
My shoes pound the pavement as I run to rescue my dog.
Poor guy, he ran into the door . . . again.
Frank is my three year-old, blind, Australian Shepherd. He’s an incredibly good-looking dog, but he’s unfortunately a bit obtuse. Sometimes, I wonder how a dog like him evolved from his wolf ancestors because in no universe could he survive on his own.
Frank shakes off the collision as if nothing happened. Trotting over to me with his tongue flopping out, I crouch down to give his soft head a reassuring scratch. “Bud, we’ve talked about this before. Some of your parts aren’t working properly, and you have to be more careful.”
Obviously, he can’t talk back, but his eyebrows pull together in the classic, puppy dog look.
This dog lays the guilt on thick whenever he runs into doors, knocks over tables, or steals something he’s not supposed to.
Frank’s nose twitches as he sniffs the air at my closeness to him, and his fluffy ears are pinned back to his head like he did something wrong. I’ll be the first to admit that Frank’s recall is not great. The dog just refuses to listen. I was worried he might be deaf, so I took him to the vet—but they said his ears were in pristine condition. Their exact words were that he suffers from selective hearing.
Don’t we all suffer from that?
After securing Frank’s leash, I rise to my feet, adjust my glasses, and turn toward my new shop. Settling my hands on my hips as I approach the charming, old brick building, memories flood my mind.
Just a few short months ago, my life looked vastly different.
I was living in New York, working on Wall Street, slowly climbing the corporate ladder one step at a time, and completely unhappy with my life. At thirty-five years old, it felt as though all my friends and colleagues had their lives together, whereas I was adrift. From changing jobs to living in new cities, I’ve always felt unsettled, with nothing to ground me.
I felt restless.
Even though I was surrounded by thousands of friendly faces and exciting opportunities, I still felt that something was missing from my life. I felt lonely. Physically, I knew I wasn’t alone. But mentally? That’s where I felt the loneliness the most.
There was an ever-present heaviness residing in my chest, and no amount of travel, job changes, or fleeting relationships could reduce that feeling. Which led me to really reflect on where I wanted my future to be and, more importantly, who I wanted to be.
They call it a third-life crisis.
First, you have your quarter-life crisis, when, in your twenties, you’re worried about where you’ll go in life.
Then there’s the infamous midlife crisis, when, in your fifties, you look back and reflect on what you’ve done with your life.
In the middle of those two? You’re in your thirties—a time when you begin to wonder what the fuck you’re actually doing with your life.
Society tells you that your thirties should be your prime.
Society can keep their opinions to themselves.
That self-discovery led me here, in front of an almost-finished coffee shop. For years, I’ve wanted to own my own business, but I never had the courage to take the leap. And there’s always been a small flicker of a dream of owning a coffee shop—a relaxing place where people can come to enjoy great company and even better coffee.
One day, I started pulling on that thread of an idea, and soon, that idea kept unraveling day after day. During my time at my finance job, I found myself using company time to put together a plan.
After hours of assessing my finances, many late-night spreadsheets, and countless business strategies later, I decided to take the plunge. I’d had enough of being unhappy and burnt out while working for someone else.
It feels weird starting over at this age—a little uncomfortable and a lot terrifying. You think that you’ll have it all figured out once you’re in your thirties. In reality, you’re just putting on a mask every day, making people believe you have your shit together.
I close my eyes as a sharp pang of worry hits me in my chest. Friends around me are settling down with successful careers and beautiful families, and a part of me feels like I’m getting left behind and can’t catch up.
Uncertainties run through my mind at a rapid pace. Should I be married by now? Maybe on kid number two? Should I be a CFO somewhere? Or a fancy supervisor? Was it irresponsible of me to quit my old job and start all over again? Will people think I’m being reckless and impulsive? My family and friends were the most supportive of my decision. They could see the dark circles under my eyes, hear the fatigue in my voice, and feel the exhaustion almost three thousand miles away.
Deep down, I knew this was the right choice because life is way too short to feel unfulfilled all the time. But even though I know in my heart I made the right choice, those thoughts full of doubt creep into the back of my mind every so often.
The daily grind of my old job was knocking me down faster than I could get up. Toxic leadership, unethical workplace practices, and gossipy coworkers had me wanting to quit daily. I would come home, look in the mirror, and see a shell of a man. Burnout was a constant feeling that I could never seem to beat. After one heated meeting with my boss about ethics, I hit my breaking point. I decided I was done.
It was time to put myself and my passions first.
And I may have given them the finger when I walked out on my last day. So there was no going back.
My heart was craving a new challenge and, ultimately, a purpose. Because isn’t that what we all want in life? A feeling of purpose? Whether that purpose is to help others, care for the environment, or save animals. Whatever your dreams may be, there will always be a small part of all of us who want to make a big difference in this world.
Now, I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of Dark Side Brews, in an unfamiliar town. It sounds edgier than it is, considering that a Star Wars-loving, glasses-wearing, former finance geek is running the place.
Oregon is my home state, and I figured opening a business in a place I’m most familiar with was a solid plan. So I did what any wannabe business owner would do—I printed out a map of Oregon and threw a dart at it one night after a couple of beers. Wherever it landed, I had to open the shop. Thus, Hemlock was chosen.
Foolproof business move if you ask me.
I’m absolutely positive that the business moguls will soon be lining up at my door to discuss this carefully executed location scouting strategy in more detail.
Maybe I’m just getting older, but the big cities and millions of people were grating on me, so I was happy to have landed in this small coastal town, waking up every morning to the fresh sea breeze coming off of the Pacific. My parents were overjoyed when they heard I was coming back to Oregon. They were quickly let down when I said I was moving to Hemlock, since they live a couple hours away in Eugene. Still, it's the perfect distance for me to make it home for Sunday dinner.
In a stroke of wild good luck, I bought a small house in a neighborhood just off Main Street. And it has a fenced-in backyard, which is perfect for Frank.
Apartment living in NYC is a nightmare for a blind dog, so I’m grateful he has a nice, safe space that he feels comfortable in. Despite the panicked thoughts that crossed my mind earlier, I can’t ignore the sense of relief that has washed over me since moving to Hemlock—like I can finally take a full breath of air after being underwater for so long.
Looking around the town, it’s easy to see why Hemlock is every small town lover’s dream. It’s got one road, lined with old brick buildings, dark cobblestone sidewalks, lush trees wrapped in twinkling lights, vintage lamp posts, and friendly faces at every corner.
It’s also coincidentally where my crazy aunt now lives with her new husband. I think she’s on husband number four now? I lost track about three wedding invitations ago.
I can confidently say that I never imagined living in a town with a slower pace. Especially since I’m used to the hustle and bustle of the big city, where everyone is always in a hurry. People even walk slower here, and with my above average long legs, I’ll need to practice my stride so that I don’t look like I’m sprinting to the finish line while doing my grocery shopping.
The cool autumn breeze rustles a few leaves on the sidewalk, which Frank attempts to chase, and for a moment, I briefly lose sight of him.
It’s the end of September and Hemlock got a head start on setting up Halloween decorations. Main Street is filled with decor in front of almost every shop. The building next to mine is a Halloween emporium, complete with cobwebs, skeletons, and spiders all over its facade. I whistle for Frank as I’m about to head into my shop, and I look down to see my dog, who finally comes back to my side.
The damn dog has a skeleton arm in his mouth. Glancing over to the neighboring store, I notice that the life-size skeleton standing near the door appears to be missing a limb. I swipe my hand down my face, and start to chuckle. Along with being blind and having selective hearing, Frank loves to steal things because he thinks no one can see him. He’s just standing there, wagging his nub of a tail like he did the best job ever.
Little does he know, everyone can see him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a curvy brunette a couple stores down from me rearranging a sign in the front of a store. Her long, dark hair is pulled back as she concentrates writing on the chalkboard. After she’s finished, she stands up and takes a couple of steps back. Her head tilts as she reads the sign and nods to herself, seemingly impressed with her work. A smile tugs at my lips. She appears to be in her own world, completely oblivious to everyone and everything around her.
The pretty brunette slips the chalk into the front pocket of her burgundy overalls before wiping her chalk-dusted hands on her pant legs. I let out a small chuckle to myself—she’s cute with her magnetic mannerisms and chalk-covered clothes. As if she senses someone staring, she looks up and our eyes lock. I give a small smile and wave to her. Overalls girl knits her brows together, scowls at me, and swiftly walks back inside the store.
Well, that was a nice, warm welcome.
Shaking off the awkward interaction, I unlock the door to my shop, and Frank heads right in as I follow. I’d done some minor renovations to the building to make it more my style. Brick walls, exposed ceilings, and pendant lights give the space an industrial yet warm atmosphere. Pair that with dark hardwood flooring, a large gallery wall to the right of the front door, an open counter with leather bar stools to the left, and mismatched furniture—the space feels like an elevated version of a cozy night in. I want my customers to feel relaxed in this space, like it’s their home away from home. A place where they can enjoy a coffee, maybe a pastry, and just take a breather.
Because Frank and I are a package deal, I was very particular about the layout of my coffee shop. Blind dogs are special edition pups and need some extra love and care. Before Frank ever set a paw into this place, I placed scent markers on pieces of furniture throughout the shop, which is helpful because it trains Frank to identify any obstacles before he runs into them. It allows him to navigate the café using his other senses, ultimately reducing any problems he may encounter. However, no plan is foolproof, and my sweet boy still runs headfirst into a stool as soon as he enters the building.
I blow out a breath. He’s a handsome devil with a smooth brain.
Rubbing my hand against the smooth, wooden counter, I realize that the interaction with the overalls girl reminded me that I’m truly alone here. The unfortunate part of moving to a new city is not knowing anyone. The only person I do know is crazy Aunt Donna, and the woman has a reputation here that I’d rather not be associated with. She has a way of inserting herself into everyone’s business and persuading people to do ridiculous tasks for her.
One summer, when I was seventeen, she even convinced me to attend her book club. And now, I have three boxes of historical romance books with half-naked men on the cover in my attic. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at a local library and donate them. So, for now, they stay hidden.
Sitting at the coffee counter, I run a hand through my hair. I love my family, but I also need breathing room, and I’m hoping that Donna won’t muddle in my business too much. However, my aunt has already mentioned that a local guy could help me during my first month here while she was off on a cruise with her husband. She gave me his number and told me his name was Charlie. I’ll probably send him a quick text over the weekend, since it can’t hurt to know at least one other person in town. According to Donna, this guy is a bit unique, with only one friend and a dog. She also mentioned something about them and plants. Maybe he’s a gardener? Who knows.
Either way, I’m looking forward to meeting the guy. One of the reasons I wanted to open a coffee shop is that I enjoy the opportunity for socializing. I hope to develop relationships, hear people’s stories, learn about the small town community, and bring people together in the name of coffee—something that will keep this dream alive for me.
I’ve spent too many years hiding behind computer screens and buried in paperwork. Now it’s my turn to go after what I want.