Chapter 6 #2
Zoe and John sat on a low stone wall near the fountain, sharing a bag of warm kettle corn and watching kids play tag between the booths. A local string band played near the gazebo, and for a moment, everything around them faded into a gentle hum.
She turned slightly toward him. “You know, this has been a really good day. I honestly can’t remember the last time I was even here for the Founder’s Day festival. It’s been…at least ten years.”
He offered a small smile. “Back when you still lived here full time?”
She nodded. “Before I left for college in Austin.”
His voice softened. “Do you miss it?”
Her heart gave a small kick. The question felt like an opening—gentle, unassuming, but real. She wasn’t sure if he meant the town, her college years…or something deeper.
“I guess,” she said, reaching for her cider as a way to stall. She was still working out how to explain what home had come to mean—how layered it had become—when he nodded, already taking her answer at face value, as if she’d said all she meant to.
“I’ve been thinking about your dad’s motto,” he said, shifting gears. “The whole ‘no shortcuts’ thing he mentioned to Sarah when they first spoke.”
The change in direction caught her off guard.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “It’s smart branding, sure. But from a scaling standpoint, it could be limiting. We’ll have to think carefully about where to compromise and where not to.”
Zoe blinked, the moment cooling. “It’s not just branding, John.”
“I get that,” he said easily. “But if we’re serious about national expansion, some things will have to evolve.”
She sat up straighter, the kettle corn forgotten. “Not that.”
He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “You think it’s that untouchable?”
“I know it is.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended. “That motto built the Grind. It’s why people trust us. Why they go out of their way to come here. Because we don’t cut corners. Because we believe good things take time.”
He looked at her, quiet now.
She took a breath, then continued more evenly. “My dad didn’t just hang those words on the wall to sound noble. He lives them. So do I. The second we start taking shortcuts—even small ones—we lose what makes this place matter.”
John nodded slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay. I hear you.”
“It’s not just about the coffee or how long you roast the beans,” she added. “It’s about doing the work. Showing up. Taking the time to get it right—even when no one’s watching.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “So no shortcuts…even when the shortcut might be more efficient.”
“Especially then.” She met his eyes. “People can feel it when something’s rushed, when it’s convenient instead of thoughtful. The Daily Grind isn’t about convenience. It’s about connection.”
He leaned back, considering. “That kind of intimacy is hard to scale.”
“I know,” she admitted. “That’s the challenge. That’s the point.” Her fingers curled around the edge of the stone. “If we do this right, we don’t have to compromise what makes the Grind special. We just have to get creative.”
He studied her for a long moment, unreadable. Then he smiled. “You’re all in on this, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Her answer was immediate, firm. “I didn’t realize how much until lately. But yeah, I want to get this right.”
John looked down for a beat, then back at her with a quiet nod. “Then we will.”
Zoe exhaled. She hadn’t meant to get so fired up. But something about the way he’d said what he had about compromising on the shortcuts motto—as if values were optional, adjustable—had struck a nerve.
He popped another kernel into his mouth, then glanced sideways at her. “For the record, I wasn’t suggesting we hang a ‘Shortcuts Welcome’ sign out front.”
That earned a reluctant smile.
“But,” he added, “remind me not to challenge you in front of the board. I like my head where it is.”
Zoe let out a small laugh. The spark of tension lingered between them, but so did something else—a quiet current of mutual respect. They didn’t always see things the same way, but maybe that was what made them a good team.
As the band played its final notes, and the scent of kettle corn gave way to cool night air, Zoe and John stood and brushed stray bits of salt and sugar from their hands.
The festival grounds had thinned out, booths starting to close, children yawning in strollers and parents trading weary smiles. Twinkle lights strung between lampposts glowed overhead, casting a golden haze over the sidewalks.
“That was…a lot,” John said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they started walking. “In a good way.”
Zoe smiled. “The Founder’s Day festival tends to be a full-sensory experience. Kettle corn, face paint, cider…minor philosophical throwdowns.”
He chuckled. “Right. Can’t forget those.”
They strolled past a booth that was half dismantled, the chalkboard menu still listing flavors of fudge and spiced nuts. Zoe caught sight of a little girl tugging on her father’s hand, pointing excitedly at a table of leftover caramel apples.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight back there,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s just…sometimes people assume ‘small town’ means ‘small dreams.’ It doesn’t. Not here.”
John stopped, turning to her. “I don’t think your dreams are small. If anything, they might be bigger than mine.”
She looked at him, surprised—and maybe a little moved.
Then, with a sly smile, he added, “That said, I still think drive-throughs might be worth a second look.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
They walked on, their pace unhurried, the weight of earlier conversations giving way to something lighter, easier. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.
At the corner, she paused and glanced up at him. “Thanks for coming today.”
John met her gaze. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”
The moment hung between them, soft and unspoken.
And, Zoe realized, she didn’t doubt him.
Not even a little.