Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, Zoe sat with John in the freshly remodeled office at the back of the Daily Grind. Once a cluttered catch-all space, it had been transformed last year into a functional hub for strategy and operations, a sign of her father’s growing ambition.
The rich aroma of the Grind’s liberica blend filled the air. The complex, woody flavor with notes of dark chocolate had quickly become one of her favorites, and judging by the fact that John had already drained half his cup, it was growing on him, too.
She’d texted him after he’d left the bar last night that today they’d get down to business. Zoe arrived early, ready to present five core areas she believed needed attention.
Only to discover he’d come equally prepared.
Zoe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and clicked to the next slide. “This is the mockup for the seasonal campaign my dad approved last year. He wanted to expand it this fall with more storytelling, something rooted in our community history.”
Across the table, John leaned in, forearms braced against the edge. His focus was laser-sharp. “It’s strong. Warm visuals, clear tone. But if we’re talking about scaling this chain nationally, we have to think about flexibility.”
Zoe arched a brow. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning,” he said, steady and calm, “we find a way to bottle this charm without tying it too tightly to Good Hope. Otherwise, it won’t land the same in, say, Boise or Phoenix.”
Her first instinct was to push back—customers wanted authenticity, not some generic marketing gloss—but she held it in.
Because…he wasn’t wrong.
She let out a slow breath. “Okay. So how do we keep the heart without getting cheesy?”
John’s mouth tipped into a half smile. “That’s the golden question.”
She offered a reluctant smile in return, then turned back to the screen. “I’ve drafted a few story angles for the next round of campaigns. We could highlight origin stories. My dad started with one shop and a secondhand coffee roaster he refurbished in his garage in California.”
“I didn’t realize you’d lived in California.” John’s tone shifted—curious, not intrusive.
“I did.” Zoe nodded. “My dad grew up here, but after college, he moved out West and launched the first Daily Grind out there. Years later, he decided to bring the business back home. He always said this town held his heart.”
John tapped the edge of his pen against the table, nodding. “Now that’s a narrative you can build a national brand on. Humble beginnings. Family. Passion. It’s real—and people respond to real.”
Zoe paused, taken aback by the warmth in his voice. “You sound like you believe in this.”
“I do,” he said simply. “I’ve worked with companies that looked great on paper but had no soul. This one? It’s got something special.”
A quiet beat passed.
She studied him, seeing him differently than she had before. “You’ve always been a nice guy, John. Even when…even when you were Erik’s best man…I always felt like you genuinely wanted to be my friend.”
His gaze held hers a second longer than necessary. “You’ve always been easy to root for.”
The words landed somewhere deep in her chest.
She glanced down, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting.
Then John leaned back, breaking the moment. His expression shifted to something more professional.
“So,” he said, flipping open his notebook, “let’s map out content tiers. One for regional loyalty, one for national growth. I’ll handle segmentation. You take the lead on voice and visuals.”
Zoe nodded, grateful for the return to structure. “Got it. Let’s make it work.”
As they dug into the planning, their rhythm fell into place. Ideas sparked, laughter surfaced, and somewhere between the spreadsheets and storyboards, Zoe realized something unexpected.
This didn’t feel like work.
Not even a little.
Later that morning, John slid his notebook into his bag, but his focus lingered on Zoe.
She was still at the screen, updating a few slides before their noon check-in with her father, her fingers flying across the keyboard like she was born to do this.
And maybe she was.
What she’d pulled together—vision, structure, even tone—wasn’t just competent. It was inspired. She got branding in a way he rarely saw in-house. Especially not from someone who claimed she was “just filling in.”
But it wasn’t only her instincts that had impressed him.
It was the way she listened. The way she caught herself in midretort and actually reconsidered his point. The way she’d smiled—hesitant but real—when he’d told her she was easy to root for.
John rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.
Saying it out loud had been a mistake.
Because it was too true. And it had nothing to do with coffee.
He’d liked Zoe when she’d been with Erik. Back then, she’d always seemed a little out of place in their group—quieter, more observant, funny when she let her guard down.
He remembered one night at a brewery in east Austin.
Erik had been off talking business, and he and Zoe ended up in a corner, dissecting the absurdity of the brewery’s beer-naming strategy.
He hadn’t thought of that moment since the breakup, but this morning…
something about her laugh had brought it all back.
How could Erik have been so reckless?
He’d told Erik to come clean or he would—and as far as John knew, Erik had. Zoe had walked away from the relationship and hadn’t looked back. Still, a part of him wondered what she’d think if she ever learned how much he knew, how involved he’d been.
John closed his eyes for half a second.
Now’s not the time.
He was here for two months. Two. Months.
Zoe glanced over, catching him watching her. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just…mentally outlining a segmentation plan.”
She gave a soft snort. “Nerd.”
His mouth lifted. “Guilty.”
And he was. Of a whole lot more than that.
The rest of the week had flown by.
Instead of feeling drained at the end of each long day, Zoe found herself oddly energized. The back office at the Daily Grind had become less of a workspace and more of a creative lab—whiteboards filling with ideas, half-drained coffee cups marking progress like mileposts.
She couldn’t believe it was already Friday. Or that the sun was starting to slant low, casting warm, golden stripes across the scattered campaign drafts.
Zoe twisted the cap back onto her pen and stretched, arms overhead. “I don’t want to stop,” she admitted, surprised by the truth of it.
John looked up from his notes. “Then don’t. I’ve got nowhere to be.”
The warmth in his voice sent a flutter through her chest before she reined it in. “Tempting. But I think my brain’s officially full.”
He grinned, the quiet kind she was coming to know—teasing but never overstepping. “Guess I’ll stop hammering you with data for the day.”
She mock-groaned. “Please. One more graph and I’m going to start hallucinating about coffee beans.”
Their laughter lingered, soft and unhurried.
Zoe tapped her laptop. “Okay. Before we call it, let’s talk taglines. I’ve been thinking something like ‘Brewed with Heart. Rooted in Community.’”
John blinked. “That’s…sweet. A little on the nose, maybe?”
She raised a brow. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said slowly. “But if we’re expanding nationally, we should aim broader. Think simple, universal. Like ‘The Daily Grind: Better Coffee. Every Day.’”
Zoe wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like a toothpaste commercial.”
He shrugged, lips twitching. “It’s called mass appeal.”
“And mine has heart,” she countered. “The Daily Grind isn’t just a brand. It’s woven into people’s lives in every community we serve.”
“You really think someone in Portland or Nashville cares that you support the Good Hope Garden Club?”
“No,” she said, voice steady. “But I think they’ll care that we support their town. That we’re not just another faceless chain. We tell stories. Real ones.”
John studied her for a long beat. Not challenging. Just…thoughtful.
“You’re passionate,” he said finally. “That’s good. But if we’re going national, we’ll need to meet somewhere in the middle.”
“Agreed,” she said, her tone softening. “And I think you’ll get it once you see what the Daily Grind means to Good Hope.”
John leaned back, folding his arms, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And how exactly am I supposed to see that?”
“The Founder’s Day festival kicks off tomorrow,” she said, her smile tugging wider. “It runs all weekend. Music, food, local vendors—the whole town turns out. We’re setting up a coffee cart downtown.” She paused, then added lightly, “It’d be a good way for you to meet people.”
He raised a brow. “Is that part of the job? Or a personal invitation?”
Her lips curved. “Maybe a little of both.”
“Will you be there?”
“Of course.”
His eyes crinkled in that quiet, amused way she was starting to recognize. “Then I wouldn’t miss it.”
She closed her laptop slowly, the hum of energy still buzzing between them. The workweek might be over, but something about this felt like it was just beginning.
Zoe stepped out into the early evening light, the faint scent of espresso and sunshine clinging to her sweater.
The streets were quieter now, most shops closed for the night, but the familiar rhythm of Good Hope still pulsed in the brick-lined sidewalks and flowering baskets that swung gently in the breeze.
She took the long way home and walked slowly, letting her thoughts unwind with each step.
Her heels clicked softly on the pavement as she passed familiar storefronts, each one prepping for tomorrow’s big kickoff. Banners were already up, vendor tents halfway assembled. Good Hope did festivals like nobody else. But this year—this week—it felt different.
Lighter. Brighter. Like she was seeing it all from a new angle.
The week had been a blur of meetings, brainstorming sessions and late afternoons hunched over campaign drafts, but instead of exhaustion, she felt…energized. Like something inside her had clicked back into place.
Working with John had surprised her. He was sharp and strategic, sure, but also unexpectedly thoughtful. He listened. He asked questions that made her think harder. And somehow, without even trying, he made her laugh when she needed it most.
She smiled to herself, remembering the way his eyes had lit up when she’d talked about the festival. He was coming tomorrow. That shouldn’t matter as much as it did.
But it did.