Chapter 11
“Maileah suggested you take another crack at the copy,” Junie said, standing at Jo’s door as she handed her a brown paper bag full of vegetables. “Just tell your story.”
“Thanks for these,” Jo said, taking the bag from her. She glanced inside at the sweet peppers that Junie and little Penny had picked. “I’m not a writer, but I’ll do my best.”
“She wants you to speak from your heart. That’s what people connect with.”
“Did you see my emails about ideas for the new merchandise?” Jo asked.
Junie laughed. “Didn’t you see mine? I thought they were all great, so I sent your ideas to my suppliers, and they sent back their minimum order size and pricing tiers. I copied Rocky and Maileah on that, too. But I still think we can add on.”
Jo was excited to hear that. “Oh, my goodness, thank you. I’ve hardly had time to check emails. Why don’t you come over tonight? I can make jambalaya with the peppers, and we can hash out the merchandise extras. I’ll ask Maileah and Rocky, too.”
Junie’s face shimmered with excitement. “I love projects like this. It’s so much fun seeing your ideas come to life.”
“I couldn’t do this without you,” Jo said, hugging her friend.
“Sure you could. It would take longer, though, and be a lot less fun. Besides, I’m eager to collect my compensation in smoothies and burgers.”
“Anytime,” Jo said, smiling. “At the diner or here.”
She counted herself fortunate to have such a good friend across the street.
A moment later, footsteps sounded behind her. Hugo came from his room, yawning and stretching. “Who was at the door this early?”
“Junie. Her garden is enormous, and she and Knox’s parents care for it. Whatever they can’t use, she gives some to me for the diner, and the rest goes to the food bank.”
“That’s pretty cool,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. “Anything to eat here?”
Jo held up the paper bag and laughed. “Plenty of sweet peppers. But seriously, I haven’t had time to shop. Come by the diner for breakfast.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said. “I’m taking the noon ferry for San Diego. I have a project to finish by tomorrow afternoon because Grandma wants me to go to a concert with her that evening. Anything you want me to do before I leave?”
“Glad you asked. Would you replace the bulb in the light fixture above the front door? I’ve been meaning to do that, and it shouldn’t take long. You know where the bulbs are.”
She often made a list of things for him to do when he was here. While she could do them, she didn’t have time for everything.
Hugo took a handful of small yellow and orange peppers from the bag. “No worries, I’ll do that now.”
Jo picked up the bag, put it in her bike basket, and started for the diner.
One of the servers had called in sick, so Jo was shorthanded. She thought about her founder’s story while she made coffee, cleaned the counter, and waited tables.
She had practically memorized it.
After she got home later, she began writing the crowdfunding pitch. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint crash of waves.
She sat at the kitchen table with her laptop and a legal pad full of notes and crossed-out sentences. In reading what she’d written earlier, she saw what Maileah didn’t like.
It sounded too much like an ad. Bright, punchy, and fake. That wasn’t her.
She started over.
Cuppa Jo’s was built on great coffee.
Too simple. She tried again.
Ten years ago, I bought a rundown diner on Crown Island with a loan and a prayer.
Too personal. She crossed it out.
Women grow seventy percent of the world’s coffee but own almost none of the business.
This was honest. Still, it needed to be personal, as Maileah had instructed.
Jo looked in her research folder for more ideas.
She’d been reading about women in coffee for months, ever since she’d visited a cooperative in Colombia.
That trip was a highlight of her life that surfaced from her research.
It was organized and underwritten by a grant for a women’s business group in the States.
All she’d needed was her passport and money for incidentals.
She turned a page. Here was another article she’d printed out that had stuck with her.
Melitta Bentz was a German housewife who hated the gritty sediment in her morning coffee.
Jo could hardly blame her, but Melitta did something about it.
In 1908, she punched holes in a brass pot and lined it with blotting paper from her son’s school notebook.
That’s how Melitta Bentz invented the coffee filter. After patenting it, she started a company and built it into a global brand. A woman, a kitchen table, and a better idea. So many women’s businesses had been started that way.
Jo looked at her own kitchen table, cluttered with invoices, coffee samples, and her grandmother’s vintage sugar bowl.
Now inspired, Jo reimagined her pitch the way she talked to her customers across the counter. She told the story of the Queen’s Blend and the women in Colombia who grew it. She wrote about Mahina and her coffee groves in Kona.
She explained what it meant to build a supply chain where every hand that touched the coffee belonged to a woman. Finally, she told the story of her diner—how she’d gone in for breakfast one morning and got to know the owner, who was ready to retire. She tucked that into the story.
Jo paused, wondering what her life would be like now if she’d never walked inside a cheap diner that day.
Entrepreneurs took risks, but she had to talk about her wins and what was great in this pitch. Her vibe was all about community and rising together. Maileah wanted her to put in something about how she’d raised her younger brother, but Jo didn’t want to share a story that personal.
By one in the morning, she had a draft. She emailed it to Maileah and texted Rocky.
Crowdfunding copy attached. Financials meeting tomorrow?
Rocky replied quickly. See you at the diner in the morning. Let’s get this done!
Maileah stopped at the diner the next morning while Jo was unlocking the front door.
“You’re up early,” Jo said.
Maileah suppressed a yawn. “I’ve been up early talking to a brand in France that wants to sponsor Sailor. It was worth getting up for.”
“I’ve got your coffee already brewing,” Jo said as her friend stepped inside. She flipped over the Open sign in the window.
“I read the campaign pitch you sent last night,” Maileah said. “You did well on the emotional story and the reason you need funding. But it’s still too long.”
“You’re kidding. How much do I need to cut?”
Maileah followed her to the counter. “About half.”
Jo was astonished. “Seriously?”
“People don’t read online. They scan. You need several strong images and a story they can absorb in less than a minute.
The faster, the better. I’ll strip it down and send you a revision by tonight.
The women’s angle and Melitta Bentz's story are fascinating. We hardly ever hear about what women invented years ago. Keep that.”
Jo poured a cup for Maileah. “You’re sure about cutting it in half?”
“I’ve launched four campaigns for clients. The ones that fund fast are the ones that respect people’s attention spans.” Maileah paused. “Your pitch made me want to be a part of your journey and buy your coffee. Let people share in that feeling and sense of purpose.”
The front door chimed, and Jo looked up. Rocky walked in with his laptop tucked under one arm.
“Good morning,” she called out. “Maileah and I were just talking about the crowdfunding pitch. We want to kick it off next week.”
Rocky raised his brow. “I’m impressed with how fast you’re moving.”
Jo grinned. “This isn’t one of your business school case studies. This is real life, and it moves fast.” The truth was that she needed the funding. But he knew that.
She poured a cup for him as he opened his laptop on the red Formica counter.
Rocky tapped the keyboard. “I put together the products, costs, and tiers, then ran several scenarios based on projected numbers of campaign backers.”
“Wait, hold that thought,” Jo said. “I talked to Junie this morning, and we’re adding more items.”
She took another customer’s order and sent it to the kitchen while Rocky and Maileah talked.
When she returned, they went through what they had so far. The entry tier: A single bag of Queen’s Blend. Mid-level: A two-blend sampler with a branded mug. Premium: The Imperial Kona Reserve with a Jam Session gift box. Top tier: A subscription plan plus an invitation to the launch tasting.
“That’s good, but I think you need levels with more coffee and merchandise,” Maileah said. “Your coffee cups are adorable, but you can do better. I saw the emails between you and Junie.”
“About that—oh, wait a minute.” She held up a finger as more people arrived to be seated. A server gave them menus and showed them to their table. Another couple took their places at the counter. “I’ll be right back.”
Jo poured more coffee and put in an order for two breakfast croissants and green smoothies.
When she returned, Rocky said, “If you add more coffee and merchandise, you can create more tiers. And you need a stretch goal. If you hit the base target, what’s next? A fourth blend? A collaboration with another woman-owned brand? Give backers a reason to keep sharing after you’ve funded.”
“I have some ideas.” Jo made a note on a scratch pad. She loved this creative energy. “Why don’t you all come to my place tonight? I’ll make my grandmother’s jambalaya, and we can figure out additions.”
Maileah and Rocky agreed.
They worked a little longer, pausing when customers came in. Maileah had a green protein smoothie, and Rocky had the classic egg, bacon, and toast breakfast.
Hugo stopped by for breakfast before he left for the ferry. They all sat together and talked, except for Jo, who was busy taking orders and pouring coffee.
While Maileah and Rocky chatted, working at their laptops, Hank and Sherri took their usual stools. They were interested, maybe eavesdropping a little.
There were few secrets on Crown Island.
“New boyfriend?” Sherri asked when Rocky went to the restroom.