Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“For a few years, but I missed home.”
“Why? Elmwood has nothing on the Big Apple.”
“In some ways, yes, but the people I love the most are here. I missed my mom and dad, my brother, and my grandparents. I missed noisy family dinners on Sundays Italian-style, cooking in a real kitchen, planting flowers and herbs in the ground instead of tiny pots on windowsills. I missed walking down Main Street and saying hi to the florist who’s married to my second-grade teacher.”
“Mrs. Grobber.”
“Exactly. It’s home.”
“That’s nice, but New York has Fifth Avenue, Central Park, and the tree at Rockefeller Center.”
“And no one knows your name,” Ivan replied simply. “After twelve years, it got kind of lonely.”
“Twelve years,” I repeated.
He nodded, polishing off the last of his cookie. “College, grad school, and a stint in marketing at a streaming service later, I was ready for a change. Stacy was too. We’d taken copious notes of shops we loved in the city and our fave by far was this fabulous coffee shop in the Village. It had an eclectic vibe, a fun and friendly staff, and the coffee was insanely delicious.”
“And overpriced?”
“Oh, God, yes. Seven dollars for a large drip. Ten dollars for a latte.”
I bugged my eyes out. “No way.”
“Way. That was six years ago, so the prices have probably gone up again. Anyway, Stace and I quit our corporate jobs and worked at Culture Coffee for eight months for research purposes. We drafted a business plan along the way, pooled our resources, and ta-da! Here we are.”
“Congrats.”
“Thanks, it’s been oh, so satisfying to make a success of this place when everyone poo-pooed the idea. But it’s not wise to rest on our laurels. We have to think about growth.”
“Expansion is a good idea. Wish I had some words of wisdom, but unfortunately, I’m not exactly qualified to do anything outside of hockey.”
“That’s not true. You can do anything you set your mind to,” he countered. “Have you thought about what you want to do after hockey? I assume you don’t want to learn how to bake.”
“You assume correctly. Truth is, I have no idea what to do.” I sipped my tea and glanced out the window. “Next season was going to be my last one. I should have been thinking about the future all along, but I thought I’d have more time.”
“Hmm.” Ivan scooted to the edge of his seat and wiggled his fingers. “Other than hockey, name something you were always interested in as a kid.”
“Uh…video games. And eating. I could launch my next career as a professional gamer who samples—whoa, that’s it!” I snapped my fingers. “I’ll be your taste-tester.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll hook you up with samples from the bakery and you can come up with the right pairing for each pastry or cookie or pie or whatever. This fancy caramel latte, half-caff, triple espresso delight goes with…a meringue. Or something like that. See, when you put your plan together for my folks, go high-brow. It’s the thing that will set you apart from Henderson’s. You could have tasting nights, the way they do for beers and wines and shit. My mom loves stuff like that. Just a thought.”
I chomped into my cookie, inordinately pleased with myself for stumping Ivan. He sat still as a statue with his head tilted and his eyes fixed on something over my shoulder.
“That’s…not a bad idea,” he said after a long moment.
“It’s genius.”
“Yeah, it is.” Ivan held out his hand. “You’re hired.”
I shook his outstretched hand, smiling wide as if I’d finally solved a few world problems in one shot. Nothing could be further from the truth, but neither of us let go right away. We kept shaking hands, grinning like idiots.
“Want to go raid the cupboards in the bakery and get started? I bet there are a few cookies left.”
Ivan snickered. “Not tonight. I need to clean up here and go home.”
“Let me help.”
I gathered our mugs and napkins and followed Ivan into the back room, which was a sort of combination kitchen-slash-storage-area. I set the mugs in the sink and shamelessly checked out the shelves stacked with neatly arranged canisters of specialty teas and coffees.
The entire space was meticulously organized and tidy. An industrial grinder and a few miscellaneous appliances took up shelf space on another wall with dozens of white mugs in varying sizes, as well as to-go cups, lids, sleeves, stirrers, napkins, and more.
I didn’t know Stacy…or Ivan all that well, but I had a feeling the attention to detail was all him. He was the real deal. A serious businessman with a plan and the patience to see it through to the end. Sure, coffee shops were everywhere, yet somehow, I could tell Rise and Grind was special. There was a lot of positive energy in this place. Something exciting, new, and promising.