Chapter 2
Coffee Shop Ambush
The next afternoon, Jess sat at the Caffeine Drip, stress-eating a chocolate marshmallow muffin and still cringing over yesterday's encounter. She should have known better than to take Grandma at her word.
The coffee shop occupied a corner storefront on Main Street, all exposed brick and mismatched furniture that somehow worked.
Large windows wrapped around two sides, flooding the space with afternoon light.
Jess had claimed a table near a front window, demolishing her second muffin while she replayed the morning's disaster in her head.
“Grandma said you'd be expecting me? About the barn space?”
God. She'd sounded so confident, so certain.
Because Grandma had made it sound like a done deal: “I mentioned you to Wayne at church last Sunday, dear.
He has that big barn and all that equipment just sitting there.
I'm sure he'd be delighted to help. You just pop over and work out the details. Saturday morning would be best, I think.”
Jess cringed at her own gullibility. Mentioned you to. Not “talked to him about it.” Not “asked him.” Just mentioned Jess's name in passing, probably while Wayne was trying to get to his truck, and Grandma had decided that counted as arranging everything.
Delighted. The man had looked about as thrilled as a groundhog dragged out of its burrow three months too early.
This was classic Grandma—deciding that because Jess needed something, the universe should naturally provide it. Never mind that Wayne was a complete stranger with his own life and priorities. In Grandma's worldview, being a Hartley meant people should be “only too happy” to accommodate them.
Jess should have learned this lesson a long time ago.
In high school, Grandma had assured her the country club would “of course” give her a summer job—they hadn't.
In college, Grandma insisted her old friend's son in New York would “certainly” help Jess get gallery connections—he'd never returned her calls.
Grandma wasn't malicious. She just genuinely believed that wanting something made it reasonable to expect it. And that her assessment of people's willingness to help was accurate.
Jess should have known better than to take “he'd be delighted to help” at face value.
She broke off another piece of muffin, the chocolate melting on her tongue. At least the Caffeine Drip's pastries were consistently excellent. Small mercies.
“You look like you're plotting murder or a heist.” Robin appeared beside her table, wiping her hands on the apron. The owner of the Caffeine Drip had a knack for reading customers' moods. “Which one is it?”
“Neither. Just contemplating my life choices.” Jess gestured at the empty chair. “Got a minute?”
“For you? Always.” Robin settled into the chair with the easy grace of someone who'd been on their feet all day but wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. “What happened? Someone kicked your puppy?”
“I accidentally knocked on the wrong door and got bitten.” Jess wrapped her hands around her latte cup, seeking the warmth even though the coffee was lukewarm by now.
“My grandmother sent me to ask Wayne Drummond about using his barn for my glassblowing. She said it was all arranged. It was not, in fact, all arranged.”
Robin's eyes widened. “Oh no. You didn't.”
“I did. Showed up at his house yesterday morning with my portfolio and everything. He looked like death warmed over—apparently just got back from some big fire—and I waltzed up acting like we had an appointment.” Jess dropped her head into her hands.
“I've never seen someone look so horrified to find another human on their porch.”
“To be fair, Wayne's not exactly a people person on his best days.” Robin's tone was sympathetic. “And he just got back from that McCaysville call this morning—half the crew was in here at dawn looking like the walking dead. He was probably running on no sleep and pure adrenaline crash.”
“He said he smelled like smoke. But he didn't—not really. Like maybe a hint of something, but nothing terrible. Why would he say that?”
Robin's expression shifted to something knowing and a little sad.
“Wayne's got a chip on his shoulder about the whole firefighter thing.
Some ex-girlfriend did a number on him, from what I've heard whispered around town. Made him think he was—” Robin paused, choosing words carefully.
"—less than appealing because of the job. "
Jess sat up straighter. “That's awful.”
“Yeah. And Wayne being Wayne, he internalized it and built walls that would make a medieval castle jealous.” Robin stood, stretching. “He's a good guy under all that grumpy hermit routine. Just doesn't let many people see it.”
“Well, I definitely didn't see it this morning.”
“Give him another shot. Maybe catch him when he's actually conscious and not covered in fire crud.” Robin headed back toward the counter, then paused. “And maybe don't lead with what your grandmother said.”
Jess watched Robin go, her mind churning.
She needed that workspace. The little room above her grandparents' garage was fine for living, but there was no way to set up proper glassblowing equipment there.
She'd checked every available rental in town—the old tobacco barn on Mill Road had the space but would need thousands in electrical upgrades she couldn't afford.
The warehouse space near the highway was cheap but had no ventilation system and sat right next to the auto body shop, which meant fumes and noise.
The former pottery studio had potential, but the landlord wanted first, last, and a security deposit that would drain what little savings she had left after three years of barely scraping by in Brooklyn.
Wayne's barn was perfect. Already set up with proper ventilation for his forge, electrical capacity for heavy equipment, and apparently just sitting there with space to spare. Or it would be perfect if its owner wasn't a grumpy hermit who'd rather slam doors than have a conversation.
Her gaze drifted to the community bulletin board near the counter, crowded with flyers for everything from yoga classes to lost cats. One poster caught her eye—bright red with bold lettering:
SOUTHEASTERN FIRE SAFETY CHALLENGE Fire Prevention Week - October 6-12 Demonstrations · Education · Community · Open to all departments in GA, NC, SC, TN 1st Prize: Thermal Imaging Camera + Swift Water Rescue Equipment Package 2nd Prize: All-Terrain Emergency Response Vehicle 3rd Prize: New Turnout Gear Set (5 firefighters) All Participating Teams: Grant Writing Assistance + Training Scholarships
The fine print at the bottom listed three major insurance companies as sponsors. Smart—they all had a vested interest in better fire safety. And those prizes... any volunteer department in the region would be scrambling to put together their best demonstration for a shot at that equipment.
Which meant the volunteer firefighters would be heavily involved. Which meant Wayne Drummond would be heavily involved.
Maybe she couldn't convince Wayne to help her out of the goodness of his heart. But if she could find a way to make it mutually beneficial—or at least make it harder for him to say no—then maybe she had a shot.
She just needed to figure out the angle.
Robin appeared with a fresh latte, steam rising from the cup. “On the house. You look like you need it.”
“You're a saint.”
“I'm really not. But I make good coffee, which is almost the same thing.” Glancing out of the window, Robin set the cup down. “Hey, speaking of Wayne...”
Jess's heart did an uncomfortable flip. “What?”
“He just pulled up outside. Comes in quite often for his afternoon coffee fix.” Robin's eyes gleamed with mischief. “You could, I don't know, accidentally run into him. Apologize for this morning. Feel out whether there's any chance of changing his mind.”
“That's not a terrible idea.” Jess was already mentally rehearsing what she'd say. Something casual. Non-threatening. Maybe mention the fundraiser, show she'd done her research—
“What does he usually order?”
Robin grinned. “Large black coffee, no sugar, no cream. Sometimes a blueberry muffin if we have them fresh.”
“Perfect.” Jess pulled out her wallet. “Get me his usual—actually, make it two coffees. One for me too.”
“You're going to ambush him with caffeine.” Robin looked delighted. “I approve.”
“It's not an ambush,” Jess protested. “It's a... strategic peace offering.”
“Uh-huh. Well, he'll be through that door in about two minutes, so get ready for your not-ambush.”