Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“In here,” Worth called from the breakfast nook. He was surrounded by several yellow legal pads, pens, and sticky notes, and my laptop was propped in front of him with a fan pointed at it. No evidence of a nap in sight other than Buttercup, who was dozing at his feet. “I got your dinosaur of a computer up and running.”
“It’s not a bad machine. Just a little persnickety and prone to overheating.”
“Not unlike that deathtrap you call a car,” he said dryly before gesturing at the screen. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Blessed Bean is nowhere near making a profit.”
I rolled my neck from side to side. It had been a long, busy day, where I’d had to be polite and stuff down minor irritations the whole time. But for some reason, with Worth, I didn’t have to put on that front of niceness. I could be tired and cranky.
“Duh. That’s to be expected, right? We’re a nonprofit. Isn’t the point to not make a profit?” I waved a hand airily before slumping onto the bench opposite him. Buttercup raised her head briefly, ears cocking, then went right back to snoozing, already bored by this conversation. “We have donations, grants, state funding initiatives for on-the-job training. We do okay.”
“You’re not covering expenses.” His frown didn’t waver, which I found oddly reassuring. He was taking his new role seriously, and I did appreciate his concern even if I’d rather think about other things, like dinner.
“Okay, maybe it’s a little tight.” I eyed the plate of cookies near his stack of papers. Upon learning Worth was back in town, my mom had sent over a fresh assortment, and seeing Worth with an appetite was enough to mellow my mood some. “The money works out in the end. We get by.”
“Barely.” He shook his head as he slid the cookie plate closer to me. “How did you afford this house anyway? From what I can see, you don’t even pay yourself a regular salary.”
“I get what I need. And this house was possible because my grandma was a saver and left me a small trust that I didn’t touch for years.” I took a bite of gingersnap, crisp and spicy. “The magic of compounding interest. I do need to start drawing more salary for things like expenses here, but other things always seem to need the money more.”
“Because you’re cutting things way too close.” Worth pointed again at the screen. “You can do better.”
“Not with Green Label coming to town.” With everyone else, I needed to act like I didn’t much care about the new coffee place opening a literal block away from Blessed Bean, but with Worth, I could echo his dire tone with one of my own. “We’re about to have less money, not more.”
“That’s not necessarily true.” Despite the doom-and-gloom accounting news, Worth sounded brighter and more alert than he had earlier in the day. Apparently, number crunching was good for his soul. “You have the advantage of longevity and town goodwill.”
“And the disadvantage of longevity. We’re kind of known for inconsistency.” I broke off another bite of cookie. In the few days Worth had been in town, he’d undoubtedly already picked up on the consistency issues. Longtime customers tended to laugh at the odd specials board and put up with newbie barista mistakes, but our lackadaisical methods sure weren’t winning us piles of good reviews, especially from tourists and newcomers. “And that’s on me.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Worth adopted a stern tone, not unlike the one I used whenever he beat himself up for some minor failure. “You’re great with the kids, and your heart is in the right place. Maybe barista education isn’t your strong suit, but I’ve got a plan for that.”
He held up one of the legal pads, which indeed had detailed steps.
“Is that a flow chart?” I tilted my head. Like math, complicated spreadsheets and graphics weren’t my strong suit, but I could still recognize Worth's effort. “Wow. I’m impressed.”
“I do have an MBA.” Worth quirked his lips like he couldn’t decide between smiling and frowning. “Did you not want me to treat this like a real job?”
“Of course I do.” I beamed at him. The more invested he became in the success of Blessed Bean, the more likely he was to stick around. I might doubt our ability to pull off his grand plan, but his dedication made my chest warm and light.
“And we need the rest of the crew to treat it like a real job too.”
“I know,” I groaned. “I have a hard time enforcing things like quality control and punctuality because my workers have been through so much.”
“Asking for consistent service should be part of the key life skills you’re trying to teach them.” Worth reached across the table to pat my arm, a warm, electric contact.