33

Jake was in no mood to talk or work, but Vanessa waved her hand. He approached the counter and set down the bag from Brooklyn.

“Do you have five minutes?”

He might be able to keep himself together that long. “If it’s literally only that.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Fine. What’d you need?”

“OK. Don’t move.” She ran into the back of the shop and returned with a binder and a French press.

Jake waited, drumming his fingers over the pocket of his jeans and refusing to look down at the bag. Four minutes left.

“Since we’ll have such direct competition soon, Hillside needs something to set it apart.”

The glass and metal carafe she set between them was pretty tame for an adversary like Harold.

“We’re starting to use French presses?”

“I thought about that, but this is better.” She fiddled with the press and grabbed a mug from the stack behind the counter. “When people are walking through the mall and they pass a coffee place, what makes them stop?”

“They need caffeine.”

She glowered at him. “The smell.”

“You stopped me for smelly coffee.”

She pointed at him, the struggle to not snap back evident before she plastered on a smile. “Better. Our walls contain the smell of coffee brewing, right? But if we roast our own, it’ll give us some powerful sidewalk marketing because it’s aromatic.”

“North Adams doesn’t have much foot traffic.”

“Think of market days or the gallery walks. It would pay off. Plus, Harold won’t roast his own. He’s already advertising the brand he’s serving.” She pushed down on the knob. After pouring him a mug, she gripped the binder. “In fact, you have to drive about an hour to find a coffee roaster.”

Jake sipped the drink. Not bad. “You’re telling me you roasted this.”

She bit her lips together.

“Finish the pitch.”

“I did a lot of research. A market analysis and everything. I won’t lie; it’d be an investment. Commercial roasters are expensive. But we could get a return on it.” She pushed the binder across the counter. “Look it over. I tried to think of everything. And as for flavor, this is what a home roaster and Internet videos can do. I brought the roaster here, if you want to see it. It wouldn’t even take half an hour to make a batch.”

“Not right now.” He set the mug down, looked toward Harold’s Books, and stepped back. If she was warning him this was expensive, the venture might not make a big enough difference to justify the cost.

“Do you like it?”

He picked up the binder and the bag. “Not bad.”

“So you’ll seriously look into it?”

Roasting coffee was an OK idea, but he liked another plan better—converting Hillside’s second floor into a bookshop. “This might not be the time for it.”

“I have a dark roast, too.”

As if that would be the deciding factor. He raised the binder, which easily held a textbook’s worth of paper. “It’ll take a while to get through all this.”

He had to get someplace he could be alone. A bookshop was a bad idea, but only a blanket from Brooklyn would be around to care. And Caleb, who’d promised to help find a way to even the score with Harold, was the one escorting her away.

~*~

Brooklyn packed her belongings until her feet and back ached. By moving day, boxes crowded the top of the stairs, yet as Caleb and some of the men from church hauled everything out, the emptying rooms seemed to be a better representation of her life than her possessions. She had so little left.

Elizabeth stopped by to drop off a casserole, and Brooklyn met her in the garage because of all the stairs inside. Brooklyn had already heard Caleb and the others talking about going for pizza for lunch, but baking this for dinner, at the apartment in Bethel, might be the perfect way to make the new place feel like home.

“God is proud of you, dear,” Elizabeth said. “Not everyone has the gumption to up and leave when God says His best for them isn’t where they are.”

“It’s not like I have a lot of choices.”

“There’s always a choice. But I won’t keep you to argue about it.” Elizabeth opened her arms. “All I want is a hug before you run off.”

Elizabeth’s embrace was stronger than her shaky hands had led Brooklyn to expect.

“You take care.” Elizabeth stepped back. “The girls and I will always save a spot for you.”

Brooklyn nodded, her throat a knot.

“Make some friends there. And not just old folks. Open up once in a while.” Elizabeth winked at her. “Now, go find a place to keep the casserole cool until you’re ready to bake it.”

A swell of gratitude left Brooklyn searching for words. Elizabeth, however, had already gone out of the garage and down the sidewalk.