From spreadsheets toespresso sheets

Picture this: Two guys in suits, staring at six monitors each, making split-second decisions that moved millions. That was us—Tom and Marcus—living the Wall Street dream. Or so we thought.

The epiphany came on a particularly brutal Tuesday. Marcus was on his third espresso from the office machine (if you could call that brown water espresso), and Tom was calculating how many more years until "early" retirement. We looked at each other and simultaneously asked: "What the hell are we doing?"

Six months later, we traded our Bloomberg terminals for espresso machines, our tailored suits for aprons, and our corner offices for a corner shop in Branford. Our colleagues thought we'd lost our minds. Our families weren't far behind.

But here's what we gained: Real conversations that last longer than a market tick. Customers who become friends, not client codes. The smell of fresh-roasted beans instead of fear and desperation. And the profound satisfaction of creating something tangible—a perfect cortado, a welcoming space, a moment of peace in someone's chaotic day.

We didn't know anything about coffee when we started. We just knew that life's too short for bad coffee and shallow connections. So we learned. We traveled to origin farms, studied under master roasters, and most importantly, listened to what our community needed.

Shoreline Coffee isn't just our business—it's our rebellion against a life half-lived. It's proof that success isn't measured in basis points but in the smile on Mrs. Chen's face when we remember her order, or the way the morning sun hits the harbor view from our window seats.

Welcome to our experiment in living deliberately. Pull up a chair, stay awhile. Time moves differently here, and that's exactly the point.