The Solid Grounds Coffee Company

by Carla Laureano

  “At least we don’t have to go through mountains. Were we coming from the West Coast to Colorado, we might have a bit of trouble.”

  “That’s not reassuring.” Ana cast a look at the side mirror, as if the view of the moving truck would tell her anything useful about its mechanical competence.

  “Oh, it’ll make it. It just might be slow. And cost us a lot in fuel. Good thing you’re a killer negotiator.”

  “Let’s just hope he didn’t damage anything while he was packing it up.”

  “These things are pretty tough,” Bryan said. “They’re essentially big metal barrels with nozzles to shoot fire.”

  “And now I know why you’re so interested in roasting.” Ana smiled so he knew she was kidding. “What next then?”

  “Well, I already set up an appointment for assembly on Thursday, so assuming all goes well and it’s operational, I should be able to roast my first batch on Friday.”

  Ana blinked. “That soon?”

  “Just in time. Beans get here tomorrow. Which is another reason this truck has to make it. I have to be there to accept the freight tomorrow afternoon.”

  Ana studied Bryan in the seat next to her, once more startled by him. Right now, he looked more like his climber self—his hair was getting long enough again that it curled against the collar of his hooded sweatshirt; the growth on his face had passed five o’clock shadow days ago and was headed into full beard territory. She had the sudden impulse to run her fingers across his jaw and see what it felt like.

  Which of course she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. No, wouldn’t.

  He glanced at her, evidently noticing her perusal, but not uncomfortable. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that you probably get underestimated a lot.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You come off as kind of a hippie.”

  Bryan laughed. “Pretty accurate.”

  “But you own a coffee farm in Colombia. You’ve overseen the harvest and the beans are arriving and we have a roaster in the back of a rental truck.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of the progression. Which is the reason why I’m going home to my parents’ house after this. Because I’m broke.”

  “One of the people who underestimate you is yourself. You’re doing this, Bryan. This is a huge deal.”

  He flicked her another look. “You’re freaking me out a little.”

  “Sorry. I just mean . . . this is cool. This is a good thing. And we’re going to make it successful.”

  “We?”

  “Absolutely we. I’m invested now. I wouldn’t be driving halfway across the country in a really uncomfortable moving van if I didn’t believe you could do this.”

  “Diva.”

  It took her a second to realize he was referring to her crack about the van. “Okay, fine, don’t be serious.”

  He didn’t look at her, but for the second time in as many days, his hand found hers and squeezed. “That means a lot to me. Seriously. I’m not sure anyone’s believed in me before.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Ana said, but the bloom of warmth in her chest said it didn’t matter.

  Great. She actually cared about this guy.

  In order to stave off that uncomfortable realization, she pulled her tablet and keyboard from her purse and set it up on her lap.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m getting to work. We have a roaster and we’ll have beans tomorrow. That means I need to get going. There’s packaging design, branding, distribution, advertising . . .” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, first things first. . . . I just . . . don’t quite know what that is yet.” It was as if this was suddenly becoming real. It had been so long since she’d actually run an entire marketing campaign that she almost forgot what it was like to be responsible for the success of a product. Not to mention everything else that a start-up entailed.

  “If it’s too much, Ana, let me know. I don’t mean to throw this all in your lap. We can hire someone. Hire a firm, whatever.”

  “You don’t have the money for a firm, at least not a good one. No, I can do this. I just need to wrap my head around it.”

  By the time they crossed the state line into Kansas, she had pages of nested timelines and lists in her project management software—ProjeScape, ironically—and the grip of panic was easing a little bit. It wasn’t as extensive as it looked. She’d start with what seemed like the most immaterial issue but would affect the most areas: branding. She sent off an email to a graphic designer friend, asking her to come up with some logo possibilities for Solid Grounds. They’d work on the brand book from there—font styles and colors that would carry across their packaging and website. Which meant that she needed to get on the schedule for her preferred web designer, since he tended to book up quickly. Fortunately, he owed her a favor, so she got an almost immediate email back saying he’d fit her in whenever she needed him.

  “Two down, nine million thirty-six to go,” she quipped.

  Bryan grinned at her.

  Given their late start, they decided to drive straight through, stopping only for restroom breaks and fast food before hopping back into the truck. By the time the sun was down, Ana’s neck and back were kinked, but she’d made some significant headway on her work. And as they crossed the Colorado state line, she put the finishing touches on the design brief for the website.

  “I can’t believe you,” Bryan said. “You just seriously knocked out a month’s worth of work in ten hours.”

  Ana rolled her head, easing the kinks in her neck from looking down the entire day. “Amazing what you can accomplish when you have no distractions. Makes me think I should lock myself in a concrete box at work with no phone.” She reached up and kneaded a particularly stubborn knot from her neck, twisting her head one way and then another to try to loosen it.

  “Come here.” Bryan gestured for her to slide closer on the bench seat. It was a testament to her exhaustion that she did as he said without questioning, unbuckling her shoulder belt and rebuckling the center lap belt beside him.

  Bryan didn’t take his eyes off the road as he reached over and began to knead the knotted muscles in her shoulder and neck.

  Ana sucked in a breath. “Ouch. Your hands are stronger than you think they are.”

  “Sorry. Climbing.” He eased off the pressure but didn’t stop, and she let herself relax into his touch.

  Until she became aware that it was Bryan who was touching her, his calloused fingertips rough against her soft skin, something that should be unpleasant but was anything but. Desire shot straight through her, sharp and unmistakable, as far removed from the stirring of attraction she’d felt earlier as a direct strike of lightning from the crackle of static. She jerked away and he immediately dropped his hand.

  “Did I hurt you again? I was trying to be careful.”

  “No, I’m okay. Thanks. That feels better.” She unbuckled her belt and slid back to the far side of the cab, silently letting her breath out in a steady stream while she made sense of what had just happened.

  She’d known she liked Bryan. She’d known she was attracted to him. But until now, she hadn’t known she wanted him.

  * * *

  They pulled up in front of Ana’s building just past midnight, bleary-eyed and cramped into a permanent sitting position. Or at least Bryan was. He had no way of knowing what Ana was feeling because she’d spent the last two hours not talking to him.

  He pushed the gear lever in the steering column to park and turned off the engine, then sat there in the dark for a long minute, trying to think of what he should say. “We made it.”

  “That we did.” Ana started gathering up her things, shoving them into the depths of her huge tote.

  “Thanks for coming with me. I wouldn’t have wanted to make that trip on my own.”

  “Sure. I’m glad to help. It was fun.” She didn’t sound like she was mad, but there was a false note of perkiness in her voice. Before, he
might not have picked up on it, but after spending two entire days in her presence, he felt like he knew every nuance of her voice. She thought she hid her emotions well, but if you knew how to listen, she was pretty transparent.

  And right now, it was clear that he’d done something dramatically wrong.

  “I’m going to be at the space early tomorrow to unload this and receive the delivery. If you need me, you can reach me on my cell or just drop by.”

  Ana nodded. “Okay. I’ll let you know when I’ve got something to share. Maureen said she’d have some basic logo designs for us to look at in a couple of days.”

  “That’s great. Thanks, Ana.”

  Ana nodded and levered open the truck door, then hopped out. Her knees buckled for a moment when she hit the pavement, but she righted herself quickly with a self-deprecating smile. “Maybe I need to give my legs a second.”

  Bryan chuckled. “You know we could have stopped and walked around if you wanted to.”

  “No, I wanted to get home. It was a long drive.” She hauled her roller case out of the cab of the truck. “Thanks for inviting me. I’ll be in touch.” And then she slammed the door and headed into the lobby of her posh building.

  Bryan watched until she disappeared around the corner to the elevator and sighed. He’d thought they were making progress. No, he’d thought they were becoming friends. And then he’d made the mistake of touching her. His intentions had been completely innocent, but obviously she didn’t believe that because she’d jerked away like he’d stabbed her. Or betrayed her. Or something equally horrible.

  She said she thought he underestimated himself, but now he knew that he had a good reason for doing so. He’d never escape his well-deserved reputation. Especially with a committed Christian woman like Ana Sanchez. He needed her, no question. She had the skills, ability, and experience to make this business a success; he didn’t even know if he could roast his beans. Which meant that from here on out, he had to be on his best behavior. No touching. No compliments. Just business.

  However difficult that was beginning to feel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT DIDN’T MATTER that she’d gotten home after midnight. Ana’s daily routine still called. She dragged herself out of bed at 5 a.m., then several blocks to her gym, where she once more put herself through a grueling spin class and then went straight to yoga in the studio next door. She might have proven to Bryan that she wasn’t afraid of eating, but she also knew it was time to pay the piper—there was no way she could down a plateful of ribs without consequence to her waistline . . . or more likely, her backside. By the time she staggered back to her vehicle, her legs were so shaky she could barely walk, but at least she’d burned two days’ worth of calories in two hours . . . and all by 8 a.m.

  At home, she showered, dressed in jeans and a pin-tucked floral blouse, and sat down at her dining room table with her laptop. She threw an uneasy glance at her Bible and devotional book, stacked just where she’d left them, unopened, but the gnawing feeling in her stomach pulled her attention back to her to-do list. Somehow, the victory she’d felt the night before paled in comparison to the list of things that still remained. She tunneled her hands through her hair while she squinted at her laptop and waited for the files to sync between her devices.

  There was no need to panic. Graphic design and the website, and consequently branding, were already under way. Bryan had said that he had the technical side of packaging under control. That meant she just needed to work on marketing messaging and distribution.

  She spent two hours working on a few variations of the company’s story, which would be used on the website, marketing collateral, letters, and social media ads—direct-to-consumer sales would be the most lucrative channel, even though wholesale was more stable. Once she had a rough idea of how to craft that messaging, she moved on to distribution—which looked a whole lot like copying and pasting contact information from Google into a spreadsheet. There were a shocking number of independent coffee shops and restaurants in the Denver area alone; she could spend the next couple of days expanding the list into Fort Collins to the north and Colorado Springs to the south. Those contacts would have to be mostly by mail, but she could hand-carry samples to the local restaurants and shops. She was always more persuasive in person anyway.

  With those out of the way before lunch, she opened the electronic folder that contained the information for Rachel and Alex’s wedding. The spreadsheet recorded every contract deadline and amount, from the location to the table-and-chair rentals. Or at least it was supposed to. The lines for the costs and details of the rental decor were still blank. She double-checked her email to see if Melody had sent her copies of the contract, but the only wedding-related thing in her inbox was a link to a Craigslist ad for a couple dozen hurricane lamps.

  She picked up her phone, intent on calling Melody to ask, but a quick look at the time convinced her otherwise. It was only 2:45; the kitchen would close down for hot food orders in fifteen minutes, which meant that Melody would be putting out the last batch of fresh bread for the day and Rachel would be shutting down the hot line.

  Well, she hadn’t had lunch. If she hurried, she could grab something before the kitchen closed. She packed her laptop into her bag, slipped on her ballet flats, and headed straight down to her car.

  Ten minutes later, she was parking in the alley behind Bittersweet Café and pushing through the back entrance.

  “Ana!” Melody was the first one to see her, her arms full of a stack of plastic containers as she headed for the walk-in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had some wedding questions for you. And I wanted lunch. Am I too late?”

  Rachel looked up from where she was wiping down her section of the countertop. “Depends on what you want. I’ve already shut down the range and the grill for the day.”

  “I’ve got some minestrone left on the warmer,” Sam, Rachel’s sous-chef, spoke up. Since the last time Ana had seen her, she’d gone from ringlets to rows of braids. “It’s pretty good if I do say so myself.”

  “Your minestrone is fabulous. I’d love some.”

  “Coming right up.” Sam grabbed a bowl and began to ladle the fragrant soup, while Melody rustled up a couple of slices of ciabatta and dropped them on a plate.

  “You got a couple of minutes to go over wedding stuff?”

  “Yeah. We can grab a seat in the break room.” Melody cast a quick look at Talia, her pastry assistant. “Keep an eye on the oven?”

  “You don’t need to ask,” Talia said, not even breaking her rhythm in rolling out her laminated dough.

  “Rach, you joining us?” Melody called.

  “Yeah, just a second.” Rachel spoke quickly to Sam in hushed tones, then pulled off her apron and headed toward the tiny break room with Melody and Ana.

  Once inside, Ana pulled up one of the molded plastic chairs to the scarred Formica table. “Sorry to pull you out of work, but we only have two months until the wedding and I wanted to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”

  Melody and Rachel exchanged a look as she opened her laptop to a spreadsheet that was a graphical representation of her type A personality. “We’ve got the venue taken care of, along with the flowers, obviously. But there’s still the matter of all the decor rental. Tables, chairs, lighting . . . plus whatever we need to run all the lighting and music. Does anyone know if we’re going to need generators?”

  “No, there’s power run in the barn, which is our choice of setup for the reception. And we’re going to do a late-afternoon ceremony in the garden, right?” Melody shot a quick look at Rachel to make sure they were all on the same page. Rachel nodded. “We’ve already gotten the lanterns off Craigslist—the ones I showed you—and I’ve got a lead on some really cool picnic benches that we can bring in for seating.”

  “You’ve got a lead or you’ve got them nailed down?”

  “I should know in a week or so if my guy can get them.”

  Ana pause
d, her hands poised over her keyboard. “What guy? Should I follow up for you?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve got a reminder in my phone.” Melody narrowed her eyes at Ana. “What’s going on? You seem unusually tense over this, even for you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Ana smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve just got a lot going on. I’m working on the entire marketing and promotion plan for Solid Grounds at the same time I’m supposed to be helping with Rachel’s wedding. I feel like I’m going to drop a ball if I don’t have the full picture.”

  Rachel chuckled and put her hand on Ana’s shoulder. “Okay, first of all, calm down. You were only supposed to be helping with all the venue and contract stuff. Melody and I were taking care of all the details. You’re off the hook there.”

  “That’s when I still had a job,” Ana said. “You guys work full-time. It’s only fair I take up some of the slack.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a full-time job now too,” Melody said, “flying to St. Louis at a moment’s notice and everything. How’d that go?”

  Ana shrugged. “Fine. Flew there, looked at the roaster, drove home. I managed to get him down $1,500 on the price, which I figure pays for my plane ticket and my hotel room. Not sure I’d ever drive eight hundred miles in a twenty-year-old moving van again, though.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Melody stared at Ana closely. “Something happened.”

  Rachel gasped. “Between you and Bryan?”

  Ana shook her head, but heat was already creeping into her cheeks.

  “It did!” Melody said. “Tell us everything!”

  She had to shut this down before they started going off on the wrong track entirely. “Nothing happened between Bryan and me.”

  “But you look like a tomato, so something happened.” Rachel looked at her closely. “Or is it that you wish something had happened?”

  Ana’s traitorous face confirmed the suspicion by heating even further. Why was it that she could control her expression in every other situation but this one? “Guys, it’s no big deal.”