“Okay,” I say, more to myself than anything. “We’re prioritizing.”
Structural first. Everything else later.
I grab a notepad from my bag and start jotting things down—roof inspection, flooring, shelving replacement, possible plumbing issues. The list grows faster than I’d like. And probably faster than my budget allows. I sigh, tapping the pen against the page.
“Coffee,” I decide. “Coffee will fix this.”
It won’t. But it might make it feel less overwhelming. I lock up the storefront behind me—more out of habit than necessity—and step out into the morning air. Redwood Crossing feels different in daylight. Still quiet, but less… watchful. Or maybe I’m just getting used to it.
The café isn’t hard to find. Crowder Café sits just down the street, its windows clean, its front welcoming in a way that immediately makes my shoulders loosen a fraction. A small bell chimes as I push the door open.
Warmth hits me first—real warmth, not the stale, trapped heat of the bookstore. The scent of coffee follows, rich and grounding, layered with something sweet baking in the background.
“Morning!” a cheerful voice calls.
I look up to see a woman behind the counter, her smile wide and genuine. There’s something effortlessly kind about her expression, like she’s already decided she likes me.
“Hi,” I say, returning the smile despite myself. “I just got into town yesterday.”
“You must be Tessa,” she says immediately.
I blink. “That was fast.”
She laughs, waving a hand.
“News travels quick here. I’m Delilah.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same. Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Strong.”
“Smart answer.”
She turns to the machine, moving with easy efficiency. I glance around the café while she works. A few people sit scattered at tables, talking quietly, sipping drinks. The atmosphere is relaxed, comfortable. Normal. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos waiting for me next door.
“So,” Delilah says, sliding a mug toward me, “how’s the bookstore?”
I let out a small, helpless laugh. “Standing. Barely.”
She winces sympathetically. “Yeah… that place has been empty a while.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“You’ll get it there,” she says, leaning lightly against the counter. “Takes time, but it’ll be worth it.”
I want to believe that.
“I hope so,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug. The heat seeps into my skin, grounding. “Right now it just feels like I bought a very expensive problem.”
“You bought potential,” she corrects gently.
I huff a quiet laugh. “I like your version better.”
She grins. A couple of the other patrons glance over, offering small nods or smiles. It’s subtle, but noticeable. They know who I am.
“Everyone’s been really… aware of me,” I say carefully.