Chapter 25 #2
“Oh, I’m dating the woman who runs it. Georgie Ashman. Have you met her?” I gesture to Georgie, who’s looking at me with big guilty eyes, but she comes over, squeezing past the espresso machine to get to the window, where I make a quick introduction.
“Hi, I’m sorry I set up here without checking,” Georgie says, her words spilling out, her face beet red.
“I didn’t mean to. I was just picking up Logan because the Firebirds didn’t want to ship his truck back for two weeks and they told him to take Ubers everywhere, but this is Mullet Ridge, so there aren’t really any close, and when I pulled up, people started knocking on the window, so I—”
“It’s fine, hon,” Kayla says. Kayla’s a dream of an owner—involved and supportive enough without being overbearing. “I’m sure the staff appreciates it.”
Georgie nods, and she looks like she’s holding in a breath. I’m afraid she’s going to hold it till she passes out, but then she exhales a sentence. “Have you ever thought of having a coffee cart in your stadium?”
“I haven’t,” Kayla says. “Should I?”
“You should,” Georgie says. Her legs are shaking, but Kayla can’t see that.
Anyone can hear the wobble in her voice, though.
I grab her hand and give it a soft squeeze.
“Specialty drinks carry huge retail markups, often exceeding the profit margins of alcohol and even soft drinks. And modular coffee carts occupy minimal floorspace compared to a full-scale permanent kitchen. And you get the weather capture—”
“Weather capture?” Kayla asks, cocking her head. “Forgive me, but I know very little about coffee. It seems like baseball being an outdoor summer sport would limit weather capture.”
The people in line are getting restless, but everyone has the sense to be patient for the woman who signs their paychecks. And for once, Georgie isn’t so worried about her customers that she can’t think of herself.
“Iced drinks are huge in the summer, and night games in the fall make hot brews all the more appealing,” Georgie says.
“I make a lot of specialty drinks, but we could offer a smaller, curated menu. I could do a ‘Chai Town’ as a nod to the Chicago Firebirds, either hot or cold, or I could do a ‘Reverse Mullet’ with a pour-over coffee technique that’s really fun and minimizes bitterness.
” She’s been speaking so fast that it looks like her thoughts have finally caught up with her words, and she realizes she’s given a full business pitch.
Her shoulders creep up around her ears, and I drop her hand and put mine on the small of her back, hoping she feels my support and knows she can stand up straight.
She doesn’t quite get the memo, shaking like a tree in the storm, but she’s not losing any branches. She hasn’t been cut down, hasn’t blown away.
The woman behind Kayla is watching Georgie closely. “That’s really clever.” She looks at the logo on the truck. “Meant to Bean? What a great name for a coffee shop.”
Kayla gestures to the other woman. “Georgie, this is my friend Jane. She actually married my cousin, Tripp, so we’re family.”
“I know who Tripp is. I sell from the Sugar Maple Farms worker and factory lots. Rusty approved it,” she adds, like she’s afraid they’re going to think she goes rogue selling coffee in every parking lot in the state.
At mention of Rusty—whoever that is—the girl with the curly hair waves. She angles her phone speaker away from her mouth and whisper-shouts. “Hi, Georgie! Whatever any of you say, I’m on board.” Then she grins and goes back to her call.
The red in Georgie’s face has spread down to her neck in splotches.
Kayla and Jane both smile at the other woman. “Jane owns a marketing firm, and she’s an expert at scalability and branding,” Kayla says. “And it looks like you already know her genius marketing partner, Ash. Maybe you could talk sometime.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’m the right person for that,” Georgie says.
Jane’s eyes soften. “Sure you are. That was some elevator pitch. Did you have that planned?”
“It was homework for my marketing class,” she says, almost sheepishly. “I’m taking night classes online. I’m almost done with my degree.”
“Good for you,” Jane says, handing Georgie a business card. “Take this and call me when you’re ready to talk.”
Georgie holds it between her hands like it’s something special. Or something volatile. I can’t tell which.
Kayla tries to give Georgie her credit card to pay for the drinks, but Georgie shakes her head. “On the house,” Georgie says.
They all thank her and leave, and before the next customer can get in line, Georgie turns to me, and I’m ready to catch her the moment she throws herself into my arms, but she isn’t throwing herself anywhere. She looks like she’s trying to contain her smile.
“They were so nice to listen,” she says.
“Is everything okay in there?” I ask, rapping my knuckles on her head. “You were smart and compelling and knew your stuff! Why wouldn’t they listen?”
She takes another customer, talking to me while she makes the next two drinks. “I’m sure nothing will come of it, but I’m glad I tried.”
“Are you trying to talk yourself out of believing this will work?”
“What gave it away?” she asks with a smile, pouring steamed milk over shots of espresso.
“Georgie, it’s okay to believe things will work out.”
She blinks at me. “Isn’t that how the Tree became a stump?”
“No,” I say, watching her add a dash of cardamom to both drinks. The scent fills the air with a warm, sweet, peppery burst. “Is that what hope feels like to you?”
She shrugs and hands me the drinks, cues up the card reader, and I help finalize the sale while she takes the next customer.
“Hey, Fischer!” one of the Mudflaps’ security guards calls to me in line. “You back?”
“For rehab. But I’d gladly stay for the girl,” I tell him, nodding to Georgie.
“Don’t stay too long. The ’Birds need that knuckleball!”
“Thanks. But I’m good where I am for now. I’ll be back soon enough,” I say, lying while telling the truth. I am good where I am for now. This is exactly where I want to be. But if that’s the case, why do I feel like I’m being drawn and quartered—or halved—for everyone to see?
Maybe this is how the Tree became a stump.
“Sorry, everyone, we’ve sold out,” I call out as Georgie’s making yet another drink. “This will be the last one.”
Everyone in line grumbles, but I’m happy to be the bad guy. I look back at Georgie. “Is that okay? You’re not actually on the clock right now,” I say, feeling anxious and sick and stupid.
“No, I’m not. But we are,” she says with a half smile. “We both know this is temporary—”
“It’s not,” I say, putting a lid on the drink and handing it to the customer.
“I know we’re not,” she says. She extends the card reader to the customer with a smile. And then she closes up the window and we stand, facing each other.
“Do you?”
She looks down and takes one of my hands in hers. “I know we both want that now.”
“Not now, Georgie. This isn’t temporary for me. I’ll do whatever I can to make you believe me.”
“That’s the thing,” she says. “Nothing will make me believe it. Nothing but time.”
“Then every spare second I have will be yours.”
She laughs quietly. “Or you could keep showing up when and how you can. This isn’t a you issue, Logan, it really is about time. It’s going to take me time to believe you. Does that make sense?”
I exhale in a huff. “Yeah. I just wish the season were over already.”
“I don’t. I’m excited for you.”
I drape my arms around her shoulders, and she hugs my chest, and we seem to fill up the truck. “I’m excited for you,” I tell her. “There are big things coming for you.”
“I can’t think about that,” she says.
“Then maybe think about this,” I say, putting my hand on the back of her neck and leaning down.
Her lips part, and the breathy sound she makes against my mouth makes heat roar in my stomach.
My mouth meets hers, and the taste of the Diet Coke she had earlier makes me smile.
I start chasing that taste. How did I ever think Coke Zero could be better than this?
She wraps her hands in my shirt the way she always does, and for a second, I wonder who’s gripping who.
I’m okay either way.
The longer we kiss, the more the knot in my stomach loosens, the countdown in my brain turns off, and worries about my pitch and the season fade.
Soon, it’s just Georgie and me.
And it feels right.