“They’re all up here,” Naomi said, tapping a finger against her head.
A nervous tremor rolled through her body.
“You’ll do great.”
“There’s so much on the line. The Broken Yolk means a lot to you and the community.”
Naomi’s orange and yellow dress fluttered around her shins like liquid sunshine. She held the bonnet to her head when a gust of wind whipped along the sidewalk. A bell rang when Thomas pushed the door open. LeVar glanced up from behind the counter and raised his thumb.
“Ruth is in the back. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
Thomas surveyed the shop. As was the case this morning, they were the only guests. Sweet confectionery scents hung in the air, and rows of donuts awaited customers behind glass. Ruth emerged from the back room and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Ruth Sims, this is my neighbor, Naomi Mourning.”
The shopkeeper offered her hand hesitantly.
“Nice to meet you. Is this really necessary?”
Thomas set a hand on Ruth’s shoulder.
“Are you ready to retire?”
She brushed flour off her apron.
“Well, no.”
“Then listen to what we have to say. Please.”
“I guess you’re right. I can’t close my eyes and hope the shop will survive until winter.”
“Naomi worked with small businesses while she lived in Ithaca. She has great ideas for keeping the Broken Yolk solvent.”
Ruth gave each of them a doubtful glance, then she lifted her hands.
“What do I have to lose?”
They chose a table in the back. Naomi slid into the chair beside Thomas while Ruth sat across from them.
“Let’s begin with your strengths and build off them,” said Naomi.
Ruth motioned at the empty seats and lack of customers.
“What strengths? I offer nothing the competition can’t beat me at.”
“That’s not true. Thomas, who makes the best donuts in Nightshade County?”
“That would be Ruth Sims at the Broken Yolk. I worked in California for a decade and never ate a donut or drank a coffee that compared to what I get here.”
“Ruth, would you give me your donut recipe?”
Ruth placed a hand over her heart.
“You want my recipe? I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a family secret.”
“That’s where we should start. Your donuts are homemade, and nobody else has the recipe. Anyone who’s eaten here will vouch for their originality and tastiness. You need to put that front and center in the window. Or write it on a sign and hang it behind the wall. When someone visits the Broken Yolk, they’re enjoying an experience they can’t get anywhere else.”
“Okay, but I’m not sure it will make a difference. What else?”
“The cafe on Main Street is fair trade, and the younger crowd flocks there for coffee and pastries.”
Ruth scowled.
“I bought a pastry from them last spring. It wasn’t nearly as good as I’d been led to believe.”
“It doesn’t hold a candle to yours. But fair trade means a lot to young adults.”
“The Broken Yolk has always paid fair prices to its suppliers. We source our ingredients from local farms.”
“Then you qualify for certification. Apply. Once the Broken Yolk is certified, let everyone know you run a fair trade business that supports the local economy.”
The light returned to Ruth’s eyes, and she nodded along with Naomi’s ideas.
“All right. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Get younger. A lot younger.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your loyal customers are over fifty, and many are much older than that. When they leave the area, you don’t replace them with new customers.”
“I can’t attract youth to the Broken Yolk. They come in once, buy a decaf to go, and never return.”
“We can do something about that. Play music over the speakers. Something modern they would enjoy relaxing to.”
“I listen to Sinatra and easy listening songs from the seventies. I know nothing about new music.”
“But LeVar does,” Naomi said, waving to the teenager.
“What did I do?” LeVar asked.
“Nothing, we’re throwing around ideas for music to play over the speakers. But no hardcore rap.”
LeVar raised his hands.
“You think Imma suggest gangster rap for a cafe?”
“You also need Wi-Fi,” Naomi said, turning back to Ruth. “Give people a reason to visit, even if they’re not hungry. They need comfortable seats and larger tables. Allow them to spread out with their computers and iPads and phones. Let them study, read, and call the Broken Yolk home.”
“What if they come for the Wi-Fi and don’t eat?”
Naomi inhaled and closed her eyes.
“Ruth, it’s impossible to visit the Broken Yolk and not eat. Just get them in the door. Your baking is all the magic you need.”
Ruth sat back in her chair. Thomas could see the possibilities brimming in her eyes.
“These ideas of yours might just work.” She rubbed her chin and pointed at the open wall beside the register. “I could place a book shelf along the wall and fill it with reading material.”
“Now you’re getting the right idea.”
“But how do I attract young people?”
“I suggest starting at the community college,” Thomas said. “Print out menus and hang them on the walls around campus. LeVar is there three days a week. I’m sure he could drop the pamphlets off for you.”
“Just say the word, Deputy Dog,” LeVar said, wiping down the counter.
“That’s a terrific idea,” Naomi said. “Once you attract a few, word of mouth will bring the rest.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to expand your seating area,” Thomas said.
“Remodeling is beyond my means,” Ruth said. “I barely earn enough to pay the bills.”
“Fortunately, I know two remodeling experts who work on the cheap. Isn’t that right, LeVar?”
LeVar set the cloth on the counter and walked to the window.
“Yeah. It wouldn’t take much. Another few yards of space, and customers could have a lounge area.” LeVar squinted up at the strip lights. “Gotta do something about this lighting too. Tone it down a little, make it relaxing.” They all stared at the teenager. He raised his palms. “What ‘choo looking at? A former gangster can’t remodel a cafe?”
With Ruth’s mood elevated, Thomas and Naomi purchased
