When they’d removed enough shutters to see properly, they stepped back inside. The floor near one side of the cafe glistened with water.
“Looks like we got some water coming in.” She pointed toward the small puddles forming near some tables near the back.
“Probably from those missing roof tiles.” Maxine followed behind her. “Let’s check the kitchen.”
She pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, bracing herself. The room appeared largely untouched, though water had seeped through the ceiling in spots, leaving small puddles on the stainless steel counters and floor.
“Could be worse.” She opened the refrigerator to check its contents. “We’ll need to toss most of this.”
“The structure seems intact. No major damage that I can see.”
She moved to the storage closet and pulled out the mop and bucket. “Let’s clean up this water before it causes more problems.”
As they worked side by side, mopping up the puddles, a strange mix of emotions filled her. Relief that her beloved cafe hadn’t been destroyed, gratitude for Maxine’s steady presence, and yet a lingering anxiety about what would come next.
“I wonder how long we’ll be without power,” she said, wringing the mop into the bucket. “The generator can keep the refrigerator running, and run the coffee makers, but we can’t open without electricity.”
“They usually prioritize getting power back to the businesses on Main Street.” Maxine shrugged. “Maybe a day or two if we’re lucky? We could do a limited menu—cold sandwiches, things that don’t need heating.”
She nodded, considering the idea. “If I can get supplies brought over here, that would work. People will need somewhere to gather, to talk about the storm and check on each other.”
They finished mopping and moved to inspect the rest of the cafe more thoroughly. She climbed carefully onto a chair to examine the ceiling where water had come through.
“We’ll need tarps until we can get the roof fixed,” she said, stepping down. “And I’ll run the dehumidifier once the power’s back on to prevent mold.”
“I’m adding that to the list,” Maxine said, already jotting notes on her phone. “What else?”
She looked around at her cafe—still standing, still whole in all the ways that mattered most. The water damage was manageable. The broken tiles outside could be replaced. The food that spoiled was just inventory, not the heart of what made Coastal Coffee special.
“We need to check the generator in the storage shed,” she said, moving toward the back door. “And make sure the coffee machines weren’t damaged by any water.”
They stepped into the small area beside the cafe where she had a small storage shed. The door hung slightly ajar, apparently blown open during the storm. Inside, the generator stood untouched.
“Looks okay,” she said, checking the fuel level. “We can run it in shifts to keep the refrigeration going until the power’s back.”
As they made their way back inside, she paused at the pastry counter. The glass display case remained intact, though empty. She’d cleared it before evacuating.
“Remember when we used to pretend to run a cafe when we were kids?” she turned and asked Maxine suddenly. “You’d take orders, and I’d make coffee out of mud and water.” Her lips curved up in a smile at the memory.
Maxine laughed. “And we’d serve leaves as cookies to all our stuffed animals.”
“Look at us now.” She gestured around. “Still playing cafe, just with real food and actual customers.”
“And a hurricane thrown in for excitement.” Maxine grinned.
Some of the tension began to ease from her shoulders. The tension that had been riding there since they first heard about the approaching storm. “Yes, we’ll be okay.”
They continued their assessment, checking pipes for leaks and surveying every corner of the cafe. Maxine made more notes of supplies they’d need—tarps, roofing materials, cleaning product. Beverly photographed the damage for insurance purposes.
“So, what do you think? Can we open tomorrow, even with limited service?” Maxine asked after they’d finished their inspection.
She looked around at her cafe, mentally calculating what needed to be done. “If we get the generator running to make coffee, maybe the day after tomorrow. People will need coffee and something normal after all this.”
“And a place to share their storm stories.”
Beverly nodded. “That’s what Coastal Coffee has always been about—not just the food and drinks, but the community. The connections.”
She walked to the front windows, now uncovered and letting in streams of late afternoon sunlight. Outside, she could see others returning to their businesses, assessing damage, and already starting repairs. Magnolia Key was wounded but standing.
