“Some hits. Some flops.” She gave a sheepish grin. “The miso caramel latte didn’t exactly win hearts.”
Joe chuckled. “I don’t know. Sounds like something I’d like to try. Shall I start with that?”
“Not likely.” She tugged open a drawer, then paused, looking past him out toward the lake. “This place wasn’t always…this,” she said, making a sweeping motion with her hands. “Gramps has rented boats here, but all he had was that little shed over there and a cash box.”
Joe leaned an elbow on the counter. “So how did it turn into the Hideaway?”
Krista’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug, but there was pride in it too. “I saw the potential. Everyone came down here anyway after church, lunch, or a long day on the water. This was the place to sit awhile and cool off.” She glanced off in the distance. “I figured…why not make it the perfect summer hideaway?”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I fixed up the deck; Madison’s boyfriend, Zach, built the bar. Slowly I was able to save up, buy the newtables, outdoor furniture, and then I jumped in with a business loan from the bank.”
His gaze moved around the space again, as if he could suddenly see the before-and-after in the beams and tables and jars. “You did it all without a safety net?”
“My parents have money. Ridiculous money.” She said it like it was a bad thing. “They had a plan for me. Ivy League college, the right internships. The right city. That was the life they paid for and expected me to live.”
Joe’s jaw flexed. “I’m betting they’re not thrilled with this.”
“No.” Her laugh was short. “They kept waiting for me to come to my senses.” Her fingers tightened around the pen. “And they’ve never been shy about using money to get what they want. Gifts, threats, strings. All of it.”
“So you didn’t take it?”
“I left home at sixteen,” she said quietly. “I didn’t take their money then, and I’m not taking it now.” She lifted her chin. “This”––she gestured to the bar, the jars, the cozy space that smelled like honey and citrus and lake air—“is mine. I built it. I didn’t need them to do it.”
Joe had thought he respected her before, but this was another level. “That’s…impressive.”
“It’s stubborn,” she corrected, but her pride flickered again. Then her gaze dipped, just for a second.There was sadness there, too.
“Do you talk to your parents now?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, though her voice wavered. “They love me. They just…don’t always understand me. My sister, Robyn, she’s the golden child. Smart, academic, and steady—everything they wanted for me. I’m happy for her. She deserves it.” Especially after that loser of a boyfriend she dated.
Joe tilted his head. “But part of you still wants them to be proud of you.”
Her throat tightened. “Guess I never outgrew that.”
“Some people would give anything to have parents who care enough to push,” he said quietly. “Even if they get it wrong sometimes.”
“You didn’t?”
“Foster homes,” he said with a shrug, his eyes fixed on the lake. “A few. Nothing dramatic. I just learned early on not to expect anyone to stick around.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No, just me.”
She reached over and rested her hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry, Joe.”
“Don’t be. It made me who I am. You learn to build your own version of family—people you meet, jobs you take, the ones who stick for a while. I’ve got a few of those scattered around the country. We check in, trade stories, that kind of thing.”
Krista’s thumb brushed against his sleeve. “Sounds lonely.”
“Not most days,” he said quietly. “But sometimes…yeah. Nights get long.”
There was a brief pause, her hand still on his arm. Then Krista reached for an apron and tossed it at him. “Alright, if you’re going to work here, you have to learn the basics first.”
He caught it easily, smirking. “Yes, ma’am.” Joe set his camera down on the counter and got ready to work.
