Whether they know it or not.
9
Grey
I am not hidingfrom Sabrina Sullivan—and all of my complicated feelings about her—when I send Zen in to Bean & Nugget solo on Tuesday morning.
It’s a responsible business owner thing to get the ball rolling on selling the two other locations that I haven’t seen yet. Plus, I’m taking advantage of the heated seats in the Mercedes to soothe the ache in my hip from last night’s tumble. Today is about taking care of myself and giving myself some stress relief.
Even if I’m carrying my phone today.
Damn thing isstillpinging off the hook.
Muting the conversations only goes so far when I can still see them every time I open my phone to text Zen about something.
But overall I’m being productive with starting the process of dismantling every bit of Chandler Sullivan’s footprints. I start at Elk Knee, a town about five miles away as the crow flies but which takes me forty-five minutes to reach on the winding mountain roads that are lined with snow, sometimes slick, and apparently misleading, since I take the wrong turn at least three times.
When I finally locate the small shop, it’s not open despite the posted hours indicating it should be. I can’t reach the manager on the phone, and the neighboring business owner reports he hasn’t seen any staff here in three days.
It’s in line with Zen’s report that they haven’t had any contact with the staff here over email or phone in a few days either.
“Never made any sense that Bean & Nugget opened a shop here,” the neighbor tells me. “We have two other coffee places that were already popular. Even more popular to argue over which one’s better. Weren’t gonna pick an outside café to get our coffee when which one of the original two you went to defines your personality here.”
It’s an easily confirmed story, and I leave town with the trunk of the Mercedes loaded with paper goods and non-perishable food that can be used in Snaggletooth Creek. I’ve already hired a real estate agent to get the building up on the market, so there’s not much else left to do.
My next stop is a quaint little town called Tiara Falls, where Bean & Nugget Café is open but nearly empty of customers.
Despite the dearth of paying patrons, there are five employees hanging out in the kitchen. All five leap into action cleaning or doing inventory or prepping food for the lunch rush they insist is coming, though the books that I’ve seen indicate it won’t be enough to justify five employees running it.
I get the impression Chandler was in love with the idea ofhavinga café empire in the mountains, but not in love withdoing the workof running an empire.
Including market research.
“Is the other café in town that popular?” I ask the acting manager in Tiara Falls.
“It fits the theme,” is the answer I get.
I don’t immediately understand, but when I leave town, it starts to make sense.
Everything is fairy-tale themed. IncludingBeanstalk.
Theverybusy roastery on the next block that also serves light breakfast and lunch fare in line with what Bean & Nugget offers.
I’ve given half a thought to converting one of these locations to coworking space, but I don’t need the extra income and the thought of being an office space landlord doesn’t excite me.
Not the way changing Chandler’s hometown location and putting a massive bee on the side of the building excites me.
He killed my research bees.
Intentionally.
And—shocker—set me up to take the fall for it.
So now he’ll see a bee sitting on his family’s building for the rest of his natural life.
I take my time enjoying the snowcapped mountain views on my way back to Snaggletooth Creek, stopping to get that SCOBY on the way. If it weren’t so damned cold and slippery here—and also where Chandler Sullivan lives, even if he hasn’t shown his face at the café yet—this would be a beautiful place to call home.
I could even see myself learning to ski. Or skate. Or snowshoe.
