Mia had been running the café for three years when she realised the problem wasn't the coffee.

The coffee was excellent. Everyone said so. She had regulars who drove from the other side of the city, who had specific orders, who knew her name, who brought their laptops and stayed for hours.

The problem was the back wall.

It was a big wall, exposed brick, running the full length of the café. It was the first thing people saw when they walked in. And for three years, it had done almost nothing. A corkboard with a menu pinned to it. A fire safety certificate in a plastic sleeve. A poster from an event they'd hosted two years ago.

It looked like an office, not a café.

She'd thought about what she wanted that wall to do, not just store things, but tell people something. About the coffee. About the suppliers they worked with. About the fact that this was a place that cared about the details.

She needed shelving that didn't look like shelving.

Three bespoke reclaimed timber shelves later, the back wall looks completely different.

Local products on the shelves. Bags of coffee available to take home. Small ceramic pieces from a local maker she'd wanted to stock for years but never had anywhere to put.

The fire safety certificate is still there, but somehow, you don't notice it anymore.

People photograph the wall now.

Mia still makes excellent coffee. But the café finally looks like it.