In Charge, page 2
The entrance to Sweetgum Meadows was marked by a sign adorned with painted sweetgum leaves. They swirled and danced around the letters, forming a tapestry that made the words ‘Sweetgum Meadows’ pop. Xavier was instantly captivated by the artistic touch—a unique blend of nature and craft that transformed a mundane welcome sign into a work of art. He couldn't help but wonder about the hands behind such an exquisite piece.
As he drove further in, the dense canopy of pine trees that flanked the open road began to thin out, giving way to the unmistakable signs of urban development. What was once nature's playground now stood transformed. Instead of towering trees, there were now sprawling malls, buzzing eateries, and other recreational spots. While Xavier appreciated progress, he felt a slight twinge of nostalgia for the untouched beauty he imagined Sweetgum Meadows once was.
Driving along Main Street, Xavier gripped the steering wheel with one hand, while in the other, he held his cell phone, displaying an email from Jones. It detailed everything about Joanne’s enterprise — its name, branches, locations, and even her impressive yearly earnings. He mentally whistled in appreciation. The numbers didn’t lie; she was evidently quite accomplished. Achieving this level of success, especially before hitting thirty and primarily on her own, was commendable. Clearly, Joanne was a force to be reckoned with in the business world.
But for Xavier, business acumen wasn't the only criterion. Her intentions for the property in Peachwood, a place he and his fellow townspeople considered a treasured relic, were what truly mattered. Yes, he'd acquired that old post office with eventual resale in mind, but it wasn't just any building to be handed off to the highest bidder. Its new purpose needed to resonate with its rich history, and its new owner should be someone who recognized its deep-rooted significance.
The soft chime of his smartwatch interrupted Xavier's thoughts as his feet touched the pavement. A quick glance confirmed the reminder of the eleven a.m. meeting, one he'd already rescheduled. Straightening up, he briskly adjusted and re-buttoned his suit jacket, keenly observing the building before him.
Its vast glass windows reflected the town’s charming essence, while the quaint chalkboard by the open door showcased the day’s specials in whimsical handwriting. Above the entrance, the shop’s name, Roasted Beans Coffee Spot, was elegantly scripted, beckoning patrons inside. The entire setup seemed to call out invitingly, “Come, stay awhile.”
And as if the visual appeal wasn’t enough, the rich, intoxicating scent of freshly brewed espresso wafted out, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. Xavier couldn’t resist; he decided a cup of that aromatic promise was worth indulging in.
“Welcome to Roasted Beans Coffee Spot. How can I help you today, sir?” chirped a young girl at the counter, her hair playfully tied up in pigtails. Xavier quickly scanned the interior, noting that it was relatively quiet with just one other patron—a young man, likely a college student, engrossed in his work by the window.
The café was a harmonious blend of soft, earthy tones: taupe cushioned booths paired with honey-colored wooden floors. Its design and layout, while distinct, radiated warmth and comfort, reminiscent of the upscale coffee spots he’d frequented in more metropolitan areas. A certain renowned brand, a titan in the coffee industry, floated into his thoughts. He mused silently. She’s not mimicking them, but the inspiration is evident.
“I'll have an espresso," he declared, glancing at the overhead menu before sliding a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. "Keep the change."
“Thank you, sir. It’ll be just a moment. May I have your name, please?” The girl’s attire caught Xavier’s attention. The uniform — a mocha-colored cap paired with a matching apron over a cream T-shirt with honey-hued sleeves — complemented the cafe’s warm interior. While familiar, it still held a unique charm that set the establishment apart. He decided not to overthink it.
“Call me Alex,” he responded with an alias, choosing a table nearby. The ambient sounds of the coffee shop filled his ears: the rhythmic grinding of fresh beans, the occasional clang of pots and pans from what sounded like an adjacent bakery. Beneath the counter, a clear glass display showcased a delightful array of baked goods. Cookies, cupcakes, croissants — each looking more tempting than the last. Xavier placed his hands on the table, a smile sneaking onto his face despite his attempt to remain impartial.
His drink arrived in a rich brown cup adorned with a contrasting black band and a matching sipping lid. Glancing at the pseudonym he’d given, he took a sip. An involuntary “Mm” escaped his lips. The deep, nutty richness of the espresso enveloped his palate, warming him from the inside out. Xavier typically enjoyed savoring his drinks, taking in each nuanced flavor, but this particular brew was irresistible. In mere moments, the cup was empty. He pondered if there was a proprietary blend that Joanne guarded zealously or if the barista behind the counter was just extraordinarily gifted.
Okay, Joanne, he mused inwardly as the hum of the heater became more pronounced. The cozy ambiance, combined with the lingering warmth from his drink, threatened to lull him into a gentle nap. Shaking off the drowsy sensation, he straightened up, brushing a hand across his face. “Roasted Beans Coffee Spot certainly lives up to its reputation,” he remarked, sliding out of his seat.
Discarding his empty cup in a bin near the counter, Xavier nodded in appreciation to the staff. It would have been interesting to meet Joanne in person today, but perhaps it was for the best they hadn’t crossed paths yet, especially considering the plan formulating in his mind.
Pushing open the door, he stepped back out into the morning. Two delivery boys were ferrying boxes into the neighboring ice cream parlor. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a familiar number.
“Xavier?” Jones picked up promptly.
“Go ahead with the sale, Jones,” Xavier instructed as he settled into his car, inserting and turning the key. The engine purred to life beneath him. “Roasted Beans Coffee Spot will be a fine addition to Peachwood. I just need to oversee the transition.”
Jones was silent for a moment, the hum of his office in the background. “Oversee? What do you mean by ‘overseeing’ the transition, Xavier? Should I let the buyer know you’ll be doing that?” he asked cautiously. In all their years of working together, Xavier had always been hands-off once a deal was finalized.
Xavier’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road. “No. Don’t tell her a thing and don’t worry yourself either. I want to be involved in ensuring Roasted Beans integrates well into Peachwood. Not as a businessman, but as someone who cares about the community,” he clarified.
Jones sounded intrigued but also a touch skeptical. “That’s rather unusual for you. You’ve always maintained a certain distance after the paperwork’s signed. Why the change now? Have you met the owner?”
“No, I haven’t met her, but there's something about Roasted Beans,” Xavier began, his tone thoughtful. “I believe it has the potential to be a cornerstone for Peachwood, not just another shop. It felt… different. I want to help bridge the gap between Joanne’s vision and what Peachwood holds dear.”
Jones hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. Well, every entrepreneur has their vision, and while your involvement might be well-intended, just ensure it’s welcomed. And remember not to overshadow her perspective.”
Xavier smiled, his gaze lingering on the rearview mirror, capturing the fleeting sight of Roasted Beans. “Understood. I’ll approach this with care and respect. I’ll call you with updates.”
The conversation left Xavier contemplative, the weight of his decision sinking in as he drove on, his anticipation palpable as he envisioned his plan taking shape.
CHAPTER THREE
Joanne was constantly driving between Sweetgum and Peachwood, and her gas tank was feeling the strain.
Looking over the progress, she remarked, “It's coming along great. Just make sure there aren't any stains or damage when you finish up,” her hard hat sitting over her two-strand twists. Only four days had passed since her purchase, and 'Roy’s Constructors' were already making significant headway. She had vetted nearly five local carpentry crews before settling on them for their clear expertise. They diligently followed her precise instructions, tearing down unnecessary walls and ripping up the outdated flooring. Joanne wasn’t just an observer from the sidelines; she was right there with them. If a mallet swing seemed too wild, she stepped in to correct it, and if someone's efforts lagged, she was quick to get them back on track.
Joanne had mapped out every phase of this journey, breaking it down into seven distinct steps. Seven milestones she intended to hit before opening her doors.
“Understood, ma’am,” replied a robust woman perched atop a ladder, addressing the dilapidated ceiling. As she swapped out the old sheetrock for new pieces that Joanne had hand-selected, other members of the crew tackled the kitchen. Joanne had just inspected their work laying the tiles, choosing earthy tones that mirrored the warm ambiance of her Sweetgum coffee shop. When it came to painting, she was determined to envelop the space in those same hues, ensuring continuity between her establishments and creating that welcoming vibe she was known for.
Standing in the lobby, Joanne surveyed the ongoing construction of the wall that would soon separate this area from the kitchen. The door would be added later. She gracefully maneuvered around a few workers laying tiles near the left wall and made her way toward the exit. Her fingers danced across her phone screen, quickly navigating to her preferred online furnishing store app.
With a soft exhale, Joanne skimmed through her top choices for furnishings. “Considering the lighting and color scheme I have in mind, these should be perfect. But those,” she mused, “they have such a unique charm.” While she aimed to retain the familiar ambiance found in her Sweetgum locations, Joanne was also eager to infuse this new branch with its own distinct flair. She knew that making each of her shops too distinct could be a misstep. However, giving each a unique twist? That was pure gold in her playbook.
Joanne dashed out of the building, the brisk air and wind hitting her face immediately. Overhead, she could hear the rhythmic pounding. She looked up, a surge of pride washing over her as she spotted her signature sign, fresh from her go-to sign company back in Sweetgum. Roy’s team was up there, working the ledge, securing the sign with drills and bolts. A few feet away, the crew’s electrician quickly worked on the wiring.
Using her fingers to frame the sight, she zeroed in. “Perfect,” she exclaimed, satisfaction evident in her voice. The team followed her precise instructions, positioning the sign between the building’s wings. Once again, her keen attention to detail had paid off.
Joanne, propped against her car, watched a group of locals strolling by with takeout bags. "Is that going to be a coffee shop?" one of them asked, stopping in his tracks. The small group moved back, eyeing the establishment and unintentionally crowding near Joanne's car.
Ever since the renovation began, curiosity had bubbled among the residents. Her crew had mentioned the numerous questions they received. Joanne smirked to herself. Can't really blame them, she mused; this town's about to get a whole lot cozier.
With a swift motion, she produced a handful of business cards. “That’s right,” she said with a confident grin, addressing the intrigued group. “Roasted Beans Coffee Spot. We open in three weeks. Make sure to spread the word. And hey,” she added, leaning slightly forward, “if you know anyone looking for a job, let them know we’re hiring. Interviews start soon.” The group looked at each other, then back at her, clearly taken aback by her spirited pitch.
As they examined the card, the ambient sounds of traffic filled the air, with cars passing by and engines humming in the background. Two more people walked past while digesting her soon-to-be-hit coffee place. “Roasted Beans Coffee. Opening soon.” Joanne handed them a few cards, too. Lunch hour is perfect for marketing. People were up and about in search of a meal. She didn’t believe in waiting to advertise. Getting the word out as soon as possible was genius.
She gave some more cards to other citizens when her phone dinged. “Tell your friends! Opening soon!” She leaned on her car again as the people gradually dispersed. The sidewalk across the street seemed like a better place to find prospects, but she remained steadfast in her position. In case something went wrong with construction, she needed to be right where she was. “Hello?”
Joanne listened as the plumber she’d contacted about setting up the bathroom told her about his available dates for inspection. “Perfect. So next week? Great. I’ll be there. Everything will be in order by then.” She hung up but received another call soon after. “Oh, Court. Did you take a look at the drawings I sent you?”
“Yes, I did. I’ll send you an email with my digital drawings tonight. Sorry it took so long. I’ve been busy arranging the wedding.”
“I know. Don’t sweat it. I’m just glad you found time in the end.” Joanne wouldn’t know what she’d done if Courtney hadn’t finished. She thanked her friend infinitely for assisting, then hung up the call. “Hey, wait, I have a different flooring plan for over there!” she just witnessed a slip up through the window.
Two youngsters kneeling by an assembling wall just dropped a tile package. With whirring drills, pounding, and hammering going on inside, neither they nor their colleagues heard when she shouted. “That’s where the back counter goes! I haven’t sketched out the flooring for that!” Joanne ran urgently to stop them.
Most folks took Saturdays as their time to shop and recharge. Just earlier, her friends sent messages describing their weekend plans. Movies, lunch dates, picnics, and walks. Each had someone to share it with. She truly was happy for what they each found, but no relationship could ever bring out the unbridled joy she currently experienced.
With twenty-one days marked off her phone calendar, Joanne took pleasure in admiring her progress. “We are right on schedule for painting.” She’d picked out some denim overalls for today’s project. Splatters of pink, white, and yellow paint already colored its straps and leggings from her last big paint venture some months ago. That being a recreational activity with Courtney and the girls.
The sound of a door slam behind her parked vehicle overpowered her zooming thoughts of calculations. “This might be the earliest job I’ve ever taken,” a woman wearing something similar to Joanne jumped from a white truck behind her. Daybreak had only fallen thirty minutes ago. Coming out early meant more time for work, but the drawback was extra chilly weather and frosty winds ruining morale.
Four other painters hopped from the open truck. It jerked with motion even after they lined up beside the head painter. Their stuff remained in the boot as they gazed in awe at Joanne’s work in progress.
A sense of pride warmed Joanne’s shivering limbs. She wore a snug sweater beneath her one-piece, but nothing beat fall chills in the morning. As they spoke, pale yellow leaves flew across the empty street while a cold wind blew by. Seeing such a busy road, this calm felt criminal. Joanne gripped her elbows before finding herself by the locked glass doors. Behind them was a sign saying ‘closed.’ Soon, it’ll read open. After this paint job, furniture would come in and everything else would fall into place. She already had several interviews lined up for next Monday. “Looks nice, doesn’t it?” she proudly got her key and unlocked the front door. “Now to add color inside. Get the paint ready. I know it looks early, but time flies fast. Come on,” she went in and breathed. Apart from uncolored walls, the place looked incredible. Her black front counter, the equipment behind it, see-through containment chambers for pastries on top, and not to mention the polished tiled floors. She flicked on the open lights in her crisp black ceiling.
They brightened her shop immensely. Buttons for temperature adjustments were right below the light switch, so Joanne went ahead and pushed them. She relished in warmth when it spread through the room, then ran out again. “All right people. Let’s get the floors covered before we start.”
Two ladies walked in with exactly what she meant while the remaining two unloaded brushes, tins, and rollers from the back. Joanne went ahead and helped them with at least the heavy tins. She struggled with two white shades in either hand before resting them outside her front door.
“How involved are you getting here, Missy?” the head woman came out, leaving one worker to set up for the job. She wore a white bandana over cornrows that stopped right above her neck. There was a toothpick she chewed between her teeth.
Joanne’s hands itched from holding tightly to heavy buckets. Red marks stretched across her palms. “Not too much,” she lied before smiling. “Just want to make sure you guys get everything done well and to my liking. Oh, and you remember my designs, right? Your technical painter has some mugs to draw along the walls. If she needs a reminder, I have pictures on my phone. I can—” she dug through her deep pocket.
“We remember your request, so don’t hassle yourself,” the woman laughed before staring inside. The protective plastic for the floors was almost spread completely. This company worked fast. It was why Joanne chose them over three others in town. In the end, their speed beat rivaling businesses. Lists and charts were made while making her decision. Sometimes, creating them helped with clarity. For someone like her with a jampacked brain, mapping things out aided immensely in decision-making. “How could we forget when you sent that long email? It was…” the lady spent about five seconds coming up with a word. “Pretty detailed and emphatic,” she crossed her arms. “So, how old did you say you were?”
Joanne stepped from the doorway when the other girls brought supplies. Their blocky boots crumpled the plastic after entering. “Twenty-four.”
The woman gawked and tapped her own cheek. “Wow. And you’ve started your own business? Good for you, girl. You’re one of a kind. But I have to warn you. Having your own money-maker takes a lot of work and dedication. You seem driven, so I won’t lecture you but prepare to work your butt off all by yourself, okay?” she elbowed Joanne in a motherly gesture. “Promise me you won’t give up—”
