Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You’re here early,” Stella said, hanging up her jacket. “And you look like you’ve solved world hunger.”
“Not world hunger,” Anna said, arranging bread slices with geometric precision. “But I have been thinking about workflow optimization.”
“Workflow optimization,” Stella repeated carefully. “That sounds... corporate.”
“That sounds inspired.” Anna gestured around the restaurant with the enthusiasm of someone unveiling a masterpiece. “I spent three months in Florence watching how the most efficient cafés in the world operate. Places that serve hundreds of customers with half our space and twice our speed.”
Joey looked up from his napkin station, where he was practicing stillness while folding. “Should I be worried?”
“You should be excited,” Anna said. “I’m going to revolutionize our customer flow based on authentic Italian café methodology.”
Stella felt a familiar sinking sensation and caught Margo’s eye across the prep station. Her great-grandmother was watching Anna with the expression of someone who’d dealt with Anna’s ideas before.
“Anna,” Stella said carefully, “we open in thirty minutes.”
“Exactly! Perfect timing.” Anna was already moving, pushing the corner table—Bernie’s usual spot—three feet toward the center of the room. “See, in Florence, they understand that efficiency comes from eliminating wasted space. Everything should flow in natural patterns.”
Margo continued slicing cheese without comment, but Stella noticed the slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. Their eyes met briefly—a shared moment of recognition that they were about to witness peak Anna.
“Bernie’s going to notice that,” Stella pointed out, watching Anna rearrange chairs around the relocated table.
“But it creates much better traffic flow,” Anna explained, now dragging Mrs. Walker’s window table away from the wall to create an “island seating concept.” “The eye should move naturally through the space. It creates subconscious harmony that improves the entire dining experience.”
“Anna,” Margo said gently, looking up from her prep work, “what are you doing?”
“Implementing the Florence Method!” Anna said proudly. “I learned it from watching Giuseppe’s café near the Ponte Vecchio. They serve a thousand customers a day with the grace of a ballet.”
“Giuseppe’s café doesn’t have Bernie,” Stella muttered, imagining their most particular regular trying to find his corner booth in the middle of the room.
Margo’s knife paused for just a moment, and she gave Stella a look that clearly said exactly.
“Oh, and I’m optimizing the ordering flow,” Anna continued, now moving the condiment station from its spot near the counter to a more “centralized location” by the window. “Instead of everyone crowding around the register, customers can move in a natural circulation pattern. Much more civilized.”
“Anna,” Stella interrupted gently, “people need to be able to reach things.”
“They’ll love the improved flow! It makes everything work better.”
Anna was already relocating the napkin dispensers to what she called ‘strategic intervals throughout the space’. “In Florence, even simple cafés operate like artistic installations.”
Stella watched this transformation with growing alarm and noticed Margo had stopped pretending to work and was just watching everything.
The front door chimed. Mrs. Walker, their most punctual regular, stepped inside and immediately froze.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walker,” Stella called. “Coffee?”
Mrs. Walker approached the counter, then stopped, looking around in confusion. “Where’s my table?”
“Your table is now part of the island seating concept,” Anna explained helpfully, gesturing toward the window table she’d moved to the center of the room. “See? Much more open, much better natural light circulation.”
Mrs. Walker stared at her usual spot by the window—now occupied by the condiment station. “I just want to sit where I always sit.”
Stella caught Margo’s eye again. Her great-grandmother was still watching, quietly amused—but there was something else, too. As if she were cataloging more than just the furniture layout.
More customers began arriving for the opening rush. Bernie appeared, took one look at his corner booth now sitting in the middle of the dining room, and stood perfectly still for a moment.
“Did someone move my table?” he asked, trying to stay polite even though he was obviously confused.
“It’s been optimized!” Anna called from behind the counter, where she was arranging the register area according to some new system. “The flow is much more intuitive now.”
Bernie approached his relocated booth, which now required him to walk around three other tables and past the displaced condiment station. “This is not more intuitive.”
“It just takes adjustment,” Anna assured him. “In Florence, Giuseppe’s customers adapted to his system within days.”
“Giuseppe’s customers didn’t include people with fifty-year seating habits,” Bernie pointed out, settling into his booth while eyeing the condiment station that now blocked his usual view of the entrance.
Stella noticed Margo had moved closer to the register, pretending to help but really just watching everything. Their eyes met as another confused customer asked where to get napkins.
“By the window now,” Stella said, pointing to Anna’s relocated napkin station, then caught Margo’s almost imperceptible nod of approval.
The morning rush began in earnest, and Anna’s Florence Method immediately revealed its flaws.
Customers couldn’t find the condiments because they’d been moved to an “aesthetic” location away from the food pickup area.
The relocated tables created awkward traffic patterns as people tried to navigate between the register and their seats.
Mrs. Walker’s table, now in the center of the room, had people walking around it constantly instead of the peaceful window spot she’d claimed for years.
“Where do I get cream for my coffee?” a confused father asked, holding a squirming toddler while looking around the rearranged space.
“By the window,” Stella explained, guiding them around Bernie’s displaced booth. “It’s part of the new flow pattern.”
“Why not just leave it by the coffee?”
“Because that doesn’t create intentional circulation,” Anna said, appearing with their order. “Giuseppe always said that movement should be purposeful, like a dance.”
The father looked at his toddler, who was now trying to climb over Bernie’s booth. “I just need to add cream and sit down.”
Margo appeared at Stella’s elbow with a fresh pot of coffee. “Interesting morning,” she murmured quietly.
“That’s one word for it,” Stella replied, equally quiet.
“Educational might be another.”
Joey, meanwhile, was having an existential crisis trying to deliver food to tables that were no longer where customers expected them to be. “Mrs. Franklin ordered a Classic, but her usual table is now in the middle of the room and she’s sitting somewhere completely different.”
“Tables are just suggestions now,” Anna called, simultaneously trying to explain the new circulation pattern to a customer who just wanted to sit down. “People can experience the space more organically.”
“They want to experience their breakfast,” Joey said with barely controlled panic. “Preferably while sitting in the same spot they’ve sat for the last ten years.”
Stella found herself serving as a translator between Anna’s artistic vision and actual restaurant operations.
She guided confused customers to relocated amenities, helped people navigate around displaced furniture, and tried to explain to bewildered regulars why their usual spots had been “enhanced.”
Throughout the chaos, she was aware of Margo moving quietly through the restaurant, refilling coffee, checking on customers, observing everything with the calm attention of watching something she'd planned.
The chaos reached its peak when a delivery driver arrived with supplies.
“Where do you want the coffee delivery?” he asked, looking around at the rearranged space.
“Coffee storage is...” Anna paused, suddenly realizing that her aesthetic optimization had moved the condiment station away from the coffee area, creating a logistical nightmare for restocking. “Actually, where does coffee usually get stored?”
“Next to the coffee machine,” Stella said, stepping around Mrs. Walker, who was still standing in the center of the room looking lost.
“Right, but the condiment area is now by the window for better circulation,” Anna realized, looking at her handiwork and starting to see the problems with her plan.
“Hmm,” Margo said from behind the register, and something in her tone made Stella look over. Her great-grandmother was watching Anna’s moment of realization with what appeared to be fond curiosity.
By 11:30, even Anna was beginning to see the problems with the Florence Method. Customers were taking longer to get settled, people kept looking for things in their old locations, and regulars were standing around looking confused instead of comfortable.
“Maybe,” Anna said carefully, “the Florence Method needs some local adaptation.”
“Maybe,” Stella agreed diplomatically, “we could try a modified version. Like keeping the basic layout but adding small improvements instead of completely rearranging everything.”
“That’s very diplomatic,” Bernie observed from his relocated booth, which now sat in a traffic pattern instead of his preferred corner. “Though I’d suggest consulting the natives before implementing future improvements.”
“Everyone’s adapting,” Anna said.
“Mrs. Brady should be here any minute,” Stella said. “She’s going to be looking for her usual spot by the door.”
“She’s probably outside trying to figure out why nothing looks familiar,” Margo said.
Through the window, they could indeed see Mrs. Brady standing on the sidewalk, peering through the glass with the confused expression of someone whose regular café had been transformed overnight.
Stella turned away from the window just in time to help Bernie navigate around Mrs. Walker’s displaced table to reach the relocated condiment station.
Joey looked like he was mapping out delivery routes for a space mission.
Anna was studying the room like a scientist watching an experiment produce unexpected results.
And Margo?
Margo just sipped her coffee, as calm as ever, watching the chaos unfold like it was a movie she’d seen before—and knew exactly how it ended.
Stella checked the time. Almost closing time, and they’d managed to survive Anna’s Florence Method for almost a full day.
And Meg had missed the whole thing. She’d been at her other job in San Clemente and wouldn’t be in until later.
This day wasn’t done making trouble. Meg would walk in, see Bernie’s booth marooned in the middle of the room, and probably wonder—again—why no one had stopped it in the first place.
But stopping Anna wasn’t really their job. And apparently, according to Margo’s calm observation, fixing it wasn’t either.