Chapter 4 #3
“If you want, I can help you get your beans and business in order. I haven’t gotten a job yet, but I’m trying to get an interview with Ryan Kingsley at the Majestic Hotel. I’m not asking for you to pay me. I could use the experience for my resume—and some good coffee. Will you let me help you?”
For a moment, Jo thought of resisting the offer.
But she glanced at Hugo in his booth, bent over his textbook with his earbuds in. She’d raised that kid. She’d bought a rundown lavender house on Sunshine Avenue and made it a home. She’d turned this diner into the place to be on Crown Island. Everything she had, she’d achieved on her own.
And she stood to lose it all.
“That’s a deal,” she said. “All the coffee you can drink. I’ll even throw in my famous sweet potato fries with garlic aioli.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you go direct from the start? For the house blend, too. You found the Kona grower on your own. You have the Oakland broker for importing. Why use a separate guy for the production?”
“Good question.” Jo had asked herself the same thing.
“I know coffee,” she said. “But I don’t know manufacturing. I didn’t trust that I could figure out that and the distribution at scale. I needed someone who knew that and had access to specialty grocery stores. Or so I thought.” She looked at him, slightly embarrassed. “I trusted the wrong guy.”
Customers began to file in, and Candy stepped up to give them menus and lead them to tables.
“Here come the regulars.” Jo hastily picked up an invoice beside the register a supplier had left for her. She saw Rocky read the name printed at the top: Josephine Dufour, d/b/a Cuppa Jo’s.
“Josephine,” he said, like he was filing it away.
“Jo,” she corrected. “Always Jo.”
Rocky smiled and nodded. “There’s more than one way to get a product to market. The middleman model is one. But if you already have the relationships with the growers, and you already have a broker who handles the logistics…”
“I know where you’re going.” Jo held up a hand. “And I appreciate it. Let’s talk later.”
Rocky raised his cup. “Whenever you’re ready. I think an all-female supply chain with your brand story is marketing gold.”
“That’s what I think, too. Now I need to make it happen. I want to see Cuppa Jo’s coffees in the best stores.”
More customers walked in, and Hugo eased out of the booth. He dropped his cup and plate in the bus tub and came around the counter to give Jo a hug.
“I’ll stop by the house before leaving for school. Thanks for everything.” He grabbed his backpack and nodded at Rocky on his way out. “Take care of my sister.”
“So when do we start?” Rocky asked, draining his coffee.
“I need to think about it and get everything together. Can I call you?” She wasn’t entirely sure about sharing everything with Rocky. Still, he could bring a fresh perspective.
Rocky scribbled his phone number and email address on the back of a diner card. With another broad smile, he added, “See you around. Soon, I hope.”
“Maybe so.” She had no time to lose, yet she was still hesitant.
Jo watched him leave. Rocky had asked how she sources her beans. In all the time she’d known Blue, he hadn’t seemed that interested. Had he ever asked for details? Not that she could remember.
Hank and Sherri took two stools at her counter. “Good morning,” Sherri said. “Do you have any of that special dark roast today?”
“For you, of course. Coming right up.” She opened a bag of beans she called Sumatran Empress. The dark roast, wet-hulled beans came from a women’s cooperative on the island of Sumatra in Indonesia. This coffee was bold and heavy with dark cacao, cedarwood, and clove.
When the coffee was ready, she slid the cups across the counter.
“This will jolt you out of bed,” Hank said, raising his cup.
Jo smiled. She’d chosen this with Blue in mind. “This one is for the night shift workers—the police, firefighters, and hospital staff. They get it right before closing when they’re heading in to work.”
The way she saw it, the Queen’s Blend was an excellent quality coffee for everyday folks.
It was several steps above most diner coffee.
The Sumatran Empress was for the night shift and those who wanted a strong jolt.
The Imperial Kona Reserve was for the premium shelf.
Every bean was sourced by women, and their stories were on every package.
She thought she could market and sell this line to specialty grocers from San Diego to San Francisco. All she needed was one, she figured.
Maybe she’d jumped into this project too fast, but that was how she’d always done things.
Like the diner. Best decision she’d ever made. Otherwise, she’d still be waiting tables at a beach bar.
Later, when there was a lull after the breakfast run, Jo checked her phone. No messages from the manufacturer, and no calls from Blue.
Cuppa Jo’s stood at the corner of Orange Avenue, the main thoroughfare, and Summer Street. She poured herself a cup of the Empress and drank it standing by a window, staring down Summer Street toward Blue’s house at the far end where the street met the sand.
She wondered when a short distance had become so long.