Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  “That’s such a shame. You can’t hire someone to run it while you’re gone?”

  Agni brought the cappuccino in an oversize cup and saucer and placed it before Melody. “I am the baker. Who else would do this?”

  Melody reached for Agni’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry. You’ll be missed. I know your customers must be heartbroken. You’ve been in the neighborhood for years.”

  “Life moves on. You must be ready to change with it or be crushed beneath it, yes?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Melody took out a ten-dollar bill and handed it over, then waited for her change. A guilty thought struck her. “What about the building?”

  “The building.” Agni’s face screwed up in disapproval. “Three years left on the lease and I’m still negotiating an early release with my landlord.”

  “Could you sublet it?” Melody asked.

  “Yes, but in less than a month? It’s nearly impossible.”

  “How much is your rent?”

  Agni cocked her head. “Why? Are you interested?”

  Melody’s pulse quickened. “Maybe. A friend and I are planning to open a bakery-café together and this could be a good location for us.”

  “Then come. Look.” Agni waved Melody behind the counter and held the swinging door to the kitchen. “See for yourself.”

  Melody followed her in slowly. It was large and pristine, with clean cement floors and subway tiles stretching to the ceiling. Several ovens marked one wall; the walk-in stood opposite; cooling racks waited alongside a massive Hobart mixer at the back; one long stainless-steel table stretched through the center of the room.

  It was almost exactly how she would have set up her own space. “Does it have ventilation for a gas range?”

  Agni shrugged. “I was told it could be put in over there. I use induction burners for anything that needs heated, so I never had it installed.”

  “How much is the rent?” Melody asked again.

  Agni thought and then named a figure that was far less than what Melody had expected. She nodded coolly. “Let me call my friend and drink my coffee, and we’ll talk more.”

  Away from Agni, she could barely contain a tremor of excitement. She took her kolache and cappuccino and found a table in the corner, then dialed Rachel. “You’re never going to believe what just dropped into my lap. How fast can you get to Gibraltar Bakery?”

  * * *

  Rachel walked into the bakery exactly thirty minutes after Melody had called her, her expression puzzled. “I’m here. What’s the urgency?”

  Melody gestured to the table where she was drinking her second cappuccino. “This place is closing.”

  “That’s too bad. I like her baklava.” Rachel broke off a piece of the kolache on Melody’s plate and took a bite. “I thought it was doing well.”

  “It is. But she has to go back to Greece and she’s still got three years on the lease.”

  “Really.” A hint of interest crept into Rachel’s voice, even though her face remained blank. Melody had forgotten how implacable she got when she was in business mode. “It’s a big space, probably bigger than she needed. Does she have a lunch menu or anything beyond sweets?”

  Melody shook her head. “Just the bakery, though she does do a lot of corporate catering.”

  “Can we look at the kitchen?”

  Melody caught Agni’s eye, where she was ringing up a customer at the counter. She nodded and gestured with her head for them to go in. They slipped past her into the kitchen space, and Rachel began wandering around the room.

  “We’d have to add a range. I need six burners and a flattop, plus whatever you need.”

  “Induction is better for me,” Melody said. “More precise than gas.”

  “Is she willing to sell off her equipment at a discount?”

  “Sounds like.”

  Rachel looked surprised, but continued her inspection: the ovens, the walk-in, the prep sinks. “We’d need a bigger dishwashing sink and probably a dish machine.”

  “Agreed. And I’d put in two more ovens, especially if you’re going to be using them in the morning.”

  “How much is the rent?”

  Melody told her, and Rachel scowled. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch that I can tell. The corner location has good traffic flow—I’ve been watching out the window while I waited—and she’s already got an established clientele. If I keep her most popular sellers and then we add in the food, plus the bread, I think we’ll easily do four thousand the first month.”

  “That seems low.” Rachel fell silent, thinking. “Is she willing to let us look at her books? We’re not buying her business per se, but if we’re subletting the space and hoping to inherit her customers, I want some hard numbers to work from.”

  “You can look at whatever you like.” Agni’s voice came from behind them. She walked to Rachel and held out her hand. “Agni Christakis.”

  “Rachel Bishop.”

  Agni smiled. “I remember you. What do you think?”

  “It’s a nice space. We’d want to build out the kitchen a bit more so we can serve a hot menu and redesign the front of the house, but I can see it working for us. I’d want to talk to the landlord before we sign anything, see what his long-term plans are.”

  While Agni and Rachel were going on about leases and landlords and P&L statements, Melody studied the space, visualizing the changes. There was plenty of room for her breads and pastries. The walk-in was large enough to hold her pre-ferments and fillings without encroaching on Rachel’s supplies or violating food safety regulations. She’d want a dedicated space by the ovens for proofing her dough and a sizable hardwood butcher block for working breads. Not inexpensive additions, but if they could get the equipment at a discounted rate from Agni . . .

  “. . . get back to you in a week or so if that’s all right with you?” Rachel was saying.

  “Absolutely. I leave for Greece on May 15, so I would prefer to have everything in place by then.” Agni shook Rachel’s hand, and Melody turned back to the duo. Agni smiled. “Somehow it feels like I would be leaving my neighborhood in good hands.”

  Her neighborhood. That’s exactly the feel Melody had envisioned for her dream bakery: something that would be part of the community, woven into the fabric of the neighborhood’s daily life. The thought of coming here to work every day, getting to know the customers and making new ones, sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine. Melody gave Agni a hug good-bye, then walked with Rachel out onto the sidewalk.

  Rachel stepped off the curb and backed away so she could view the entire storefront. Melody held her breath while she waited for the pronouncement.

  “It’s perfect,” Rachel said finally. “Good location, but not overly trendy. Plenty of foot and drive-by traffic. And if we can sublet, we’ll get a head start on our profitability. A place like this would cost us much more if we were to lease direct.”

  Melody let out her breath in a long exhale. “I think it’s perfect too. I can just imagine us working here together.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve got the landlord to meet, a business plan to write up, and if we decide to go forward, all our permits and licenses to acquire before we can even get working on the build-out. I gave Agni my card, and she said she was going to e-mail me some information on her receipts and put me in touch with the landlord. I think I’ll have Alex ask Mitchell’s opinion on it too. That is, if you don’t mind me running point on this.”

  “No, not at all.” Rachel had the restaurateur experience, not to mention access to a big-time real estate developer friend of Alex’s.

  Her mind buzzing with the new possibilities, Melody picked up her chandelier from the antique store and went home to clean and prime it for its first coat of white. Too bad Rachel’s taste leaned toward the modern-industrial vibe; this would make a great piece for the entryway of the bakery. Who knew? Once Rachel saw it finished, maybe she’d be just as taken with the quirkin
ess of the piece and relent. After all, wasn’t that what typified what they loved about European bakeries: the charm, the odd angles, the juxtaposition of modern and antique?

  As she spray-painted the chandelier on a bed of newspaper on the front walkway of her apartment building, Melody imagined how she would make over Gibraltar’s design. Vintage-inspired floors. Reclaimed-wood shelving along the far wall when you walked in, filled with locally made preserves. The quirky chandelier over the entryway, casting light on a marble-topped counter. Agni’s place was nicely designed, but it could be so much more, an oasis from the city bustle.

  While she waited for the primer to dry, she started compiling a new Pinterest board on her phone, pulling in some of Rachel’s favorite industrial pins and combining them with a more rustic-vintage vibe. She sent her friend an invitation to join the new board and then sat back and smiled.

  For the first time since her dreams about Justin had crashed and burned, she felt a spark of excitement. This creative outlet was exactly what she needed: the hard work, the knowledge that she and Rachel were building something beautiful and useful and worthwhile. Really, anything else in her life—men especially—was just icing, and contrary to popular opinion, she’d always been about the cake.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “SO THIS IS NEW.” Melody slid into the tiny corner table of the unfamiliar coffee shop where Ana and Rachel waited. When she’d gotten the text with the name of the place, she’d drawn a blank, and she’d thought she knew every place to get caffeine in the city. “Are you in witness protection or something? Having to avoid our usual hangouts?”

  Rachel laughed. “I’m between classes and this is close to campus. Besides, their coffee is pretty good.”

  “Right. I forgot. You’re a college girl now. So what’s the occasion? Sounded urgent.”

  “Not so much urgent. I just have news. Alex talked to Mitchell about the Gibraltar space.”

  Melody leaned forward. “What did he say?”

  “He said Platt Park is a reasonably good location. Maybe fifty thousand impressions a day. Warned me not to get too secure in the lease rate we assume from Agni because he thought it might double by the time we go to sign a new one. Property values have skyrocketed in the last few years; the east side is already out of control with new development. He’s predicting the southwest will be the next to go.”

  Melody lifted her eyebrows. “So that’s added pressure for us to be profitable as soon as possible.”

  “It is,” Ana said, “but it’s also encouraging. Young professional homeowners with dual incomes mean lots of discretionary spending. Those are the ones who don’t think twice about dropping ten bucks every morning on coffee and pastries on their way into work. Regulars like that keep a business afloat.”

  “On that note, this is what I’ve put together for sales estimates.” Rachel pulled a printed sheet from a folder and passed them each a copy.

  Melody’s eyes widened. “These are some serious projections, Rach. Are you sure we can manage this? They seem optimistic to me, and you know I’m the biggest optimist of us all.”

  Ana was running her finger down the columns of numbers. “They might be aggressive, but Rachel’s regained quite a following. We’re still promoting the Saturday Night Supper Club on Instagram and Twitter, and even though it’s not open to the public, it’s spawned similar clubs all over the country.” She pulled out her own file folder from her handbag and passed them each a stapled stack of papers. “Here’s the competitive analysis.”

  Melody flipped through the papers. “Ana, this is thorough.”

  Rachel looked equally surprised. “You shouldn’t have done all this work. Or at least you have to let us pay you for it.”

  Ana waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You’re my friends, and I’m happy to do it. Besides, I had my assistant help me with the research.”

  “You won’t get in trouble for using company resources?” Melody asked.

  Ana snorted. “With the hours we work? No. One of the partners makes his assistant do his grocery shopping. Daphne is just grateful I’m capable of buying my own kombucha.”

  Melody scanned the section that listed all the competitors in the area. Ana had identified all the coffee shops, bakeries, and restaurants in a five-mile radius of Gibraltar, along with their menus, relative strengths and weaknesses, operating hours, and even somehow managed to come up with estimates of their annual revenue—no doubt the work of her hardworking assistant. There were several pages of summary at the end, clearly Ana’s doing, that identified the current unexploited segments of the retail food market and how she thought their restaurant might be able to fill them.

  “I think you’ve both missed your callings. And I’m beginning to feel like the dumb one in this trio.”

  “Yeah, but the dumb pretty one,” Ana said with a wink.

  Melody jostled her friend’s arm. “Thanks a lot. And you’re a liar because you’re both prettier than I am.” She held up her hand. “No arguing. It’s a fact.”

  “Whatever.” Ana rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to get these to you before you made your decision on the retail space. It’s a big investment.”

  “It is. And now that Justin and I are on the outs, I have no idea when the car might be done. If it might be done.”

  “That’s your property,” Ana said with a frown. “If he’s not going to work on it, he needs to give it back.”

  “No, I’m sure he will. I’m just being grumpy.” She shouldn’t have said anything. It was simply that he hadn’t been far from Melody’s mind, even as she worked on supply costs for the bakery. “So what’s the next step?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Rachel said. “You’ve got the numbers. I laid out what our investments are going to be at each phase if we’re splitting the business fifty-fifty. I need to know if you’re in. If you are, we form our LLC, apply for business licenses, and begin negotiating the lease so we can start the renovation.”

  It had been one thing to talk about their business in terms of menus and design, another to talk about the legal tasks on the business side. Melody was suddenly, uncomfortably aware that she was putting every dollar she had—even if she hadn’t had it for very long—into this venture.

  “Mel, if you don’t feel good about this—”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s just a lot to process. It seems like it’s moving so fast.”

  “It is moving fast,” Rachel said. “This should have taken a lot longer, but that space you found is too good to pass up.”

  Melody let out a long, slow breath. “Okay. Let me look at it tonight and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Great.” Rachel rose and picked up Ana’s folder. “I have to run and meet my group. This is going to be our accounting project. The advantages to going to school with a bunch of nineteen-year-olds—they do whatever I say.” She saluted them with the folio, a wicked twinkle in her eye, and strode from the coffee shop with purpose.

  Ana looked at Melody. “She’s a little scary sometimes.”

  “And you’ve never worked for her.” Melody looked around the coffee shop. “I think I’m going to grab something to drink. Can you stick around for a little bit?”

  “Unfortunately, no. This is my lunch hour. I’ve got to get back.” Ana hiked her purse over her shoulder and rose as well. “But I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  “You know, some people actually eat lunch on their lunch hour.”

  “I’ll eat when I’m dead.”

  “That’s not how that saying goes!” Melody called after her, but she was already vanishing out the door. She looked back at the two reports in front of her, her heart slamming into her ribs. This was really happening. Her dream was coming true. Not the romantic, Pinterest-worthy fantasy she’d toyed with for years, but the real blood-sweat-and-tears, hard-work sort of dream. They would deposit huge chunks of money into a joint bank account. They’d sign a lease. They’d hire a contractor and watch that sum begin to dwin
dle. And then hopefully, if all Rachel’s projections were right and they understood the neighborhood and came up with the perfect menu and worked Ana’s promised marketing and promotion plan, maybe that account would start filling back up and they’d be able to draw decent salaries.

  She pored over the paperwork for the rest of the afternoon. Weighed her options.

  She could back out, take some of that money and travel like she’d considered doing just a few weeks ago.

  She could bank it, use the money to help her get out of this apartment into something nicer, maybe fix up her grandmother’s house.

  Or she could trust Rachel’s experience and her own instincts that said this would be a big hit. Put her inheritance into this risky venture. Plant roots here in Denver.

  Should she do this, the part of herself that liked to keep her options open, dream about future possibilities, would have to take a backseat. She’d be committed.

  It wasn’t until she was in the third hour of her shift, shaping dough to bake bread she didn’t even like, that she made her decision. She punched the buttons on her cell phone with floury fingers.

  “Rachel, it’s Melody. I’m in.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  AFTER YEARS OF TALK, they were actually doing this.

  Justin knew he should feel more excited when he boarded the commercial flight in Denver; after all, he had always planned on owning his own company, and buying an existing charter was a shortcut through years of groundwork. But the closer they flew to the southernmost mainland state, the more knotted his stomach became.

  Florida was beautiful; he could admit that. Their approach brought them over sapphire waters and white-sand beaches—not the worst scenery to call home. The seventy-degree weather certainly had an edge over Denver, which had flipped back into the thirties the day before they left. Of course, it was only April. He knew from past experience that by the time summer arrived with its oppressive humidity, he’d be missing the dry climate of Colorado.

  But one couldn’t have everything. While Colorado had its own thriving charter tourism industry, ferrying skiers and visitors from Denver into the high mountain ski resorts, it wasn’t at sea level. And despite the fact they weren’t talking about it, that was the primary reason both he and Pete were hoping this business worked out.