Sixty-three

Nancy’s text warned me that our coffeehouse was busy, but when I saw a small crowd blocking the entrance, I felt a pang of panic.

Was this a sign of more chaos with a capital C?

While we certainly wanted retail traffic, chaotic disorder wouldn’t serve us for long. Customers came to our shop expecting a coffeehouse, not a madhouse, and if we couldn’t provide quality service in a pleasant atmosphere, any new business we attracted would soon melt away.

With rising trepidation, I approached our front door and realized (with great relief) that the logjam was only temporary. A quartet of university students, bearing overstuffed backpacks, were competing to get through our entrance. Once they did, I heard the cheerful greeting of Nancy Kelly from inside the shop—

“Welcome to the Village Blend! If you’re here to join the Writer’s Block Lounge, we’ve got a full house upstairs, but you’ll find one table still empty on our ground floor, over there. We have a free proctor service to help you meet your deadlines; just sign in with me. Our Village Blend Wi-Fi is free, too. You’ll get the password with your first beverage order.”

I stood for a moment, processing Nancy’s words. Did she say full house? Upstairs and down?

I followed the throng inside, where I found a very different scene than the appalling frenzy that had greeted me yesterday. Through eyes tearing with gratitude, I scanned our busy but relaxed and organized shop.

I hadn’t seen the Village Blend this packed since…I couldn’t remember when. And despite the crowd, everyone was being served quickly, the floor was tidy, the tables were bussed—and judging from the line at the coffee bar, business was booming.

I made a beeline for Esther.

“Did I hear Nancy correctly? Do we actually have a full house upstairs?”

“Can you believe it?” she said. “Our outreach worked for a second day, and better than I ever expected. As soon as I arrived, Nancy told me we’d run out of seats in our lounge. So I set up this area for new Writer’s Block members, and people have been showing up ever since.”

“Who’s covering upstairs?”

“Tucker. Nancy is steering traffic and finding seats for the latecomers. Dante is pulling espressos faster than Banksy sprays street art. And Howie Johnson is bussing tables on both floors.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, “and a monumental relief to see everything under control, because I’m running late on my roasting schedule. I’ve got to get down to the basement—”

“One more thing before you do. We have a VIP guest visiting our upstairs lounge—”

“Madame and her astronaut friend are here already?”

“No,” Esther said. “It’s an editor. An actual New York book editor dropped by and she’s doing one-on-one meetings with the writers in our upstairs lounge.”

That shocked the heck out of me. “It’s only our second day. How could she know?”

Esther shrugged. “Maybe a writer here is a friend or relative of hers. Or maybe she saw our notices on social media.”

“Do you know when this editor arrived?”

“Nancy said she showed up a couple of hours ago, while we were still at brunch.”

“Have you spoken with her?”

“Not yet. Tuck’s been managing upstairs, and I’ve been too busy relieving Dante and Nancy for their breaks.”

“Well, this visit is odd, but it does sound promising, doesn’t it? Like we’re already on the literary map.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Esther said, pushing up her glasses.

“You sound annoyed. What’s the matter?”

“I just hope people don’t get the wrong idea. I mean, I don’t know this editor’s name or what publishing house she represents, but I wouldn’t want people to think we’re going to have a book editor drop in to hear pitches every week.”

Just then, Dante frantically signaled Esther from behind the counter. “Sorry, got to go. My orders are up!”

As Esther hurried to the coffee bar, I decided to put off the roasting for a few more minutes to check on things upstairs—and check out this VIP editor.

But my steps were halted when I saw an even bigger VIP coming through our front door.