“You need a better floor layout,” Caroline said.

She unrolled a heavy sheet of white drafting paper across an upside-down salmon crate.

“Your retail lunch counter is blocking your front entrance.”

Miller stopped stacking and leaned his thick forearms against the top crate.

“That counter has been in the exact same spot since my uncle built it in nineteen seventy-two.”

“And every afternoon at noon, your line spills out onto the pier,” Caroline said, pointing to the layout on the paper.

“I stood across the street yesterday and watched twenty-two people walk away because they thought the place was overflowing.”