Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Dusty and I will be just fine. My lungs don’t hurt anymore, and when Yolanda came by to change my bandage this morning, she said my hand is healing really well. There’s no reason you can’t go out for a while.” The dog and I were curled up on the couch in the lounge, watching a TV show called Love Island. I was deeply emotionally invested, but Bryson couldn’t care less about it.
“Okay. I’ll be back soon. Text me if you need anything.” He made sure my phone was in reach before leaving the house.
I’d barely finished an episode—and was livid because one of the women had chosen the cheating douche canoe over the devoted nice guy—when Bryson returned. He was excited about something, and he asked, “Do you feel up to going on a little outing? There’s something I really want to show you.”
“Sure. Do I need to change?” I was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he assured me that was fine. He ran upstairs and brought me my sneakers, and I told Dusty we’d be right back before heading out the door.
Bryson drove us to a tree-lined street in a cute neighborhood. There were a lot of shops and restaurants on the block, and what he wanted to show me was a little white building with a lot of vintage charm. The façade was perfectly symmetrical, with a glass front door dead center, framed by two big flower boxes beneath a pair of plate glass windows. A trellis over the door held a gorgeous, purple bougainvillea, and the whole building gave off a friendly, welcoming vibe.
“It’s beautiful, Bry,” I told him. “It’s totally different than what I pictured for your restaurant, but I love it.”
Just then, the real estate agent he’d been working with stepped out of the building and introduced herself to me. “Take all the time you need,” she said. “I need to return a few phone calls, so seriously, no hurry.”
After she took off down the block, Bryson turned to me and took my hand. “You have to use your imagination when we go inside. The previous owner got more than halfway through building out the interior, but then his wife got a job offer on the east coast, so they decided to sell. I actually love where he was going with it, but keep in mind that everything can be changed and customized.”
Since the door and windows were lined with paper on the inside, I had no idea what to expect until Bryson held the door for me and I stepped over the threshold. My breath caught, and I murmured, “It’s so beautiful.”
It turned out to be a bakery, or the start of one. The walls were a gorgeous shade of pale pink, and two glass display cases flanked a black and white marble countertop. Even though the gold-toned display cases were brand new, they had a vintage look to them. It was easy to imagine them in a little patisserie in Paris—not that I’d ever been in one, but I imagined it would be just like this.
“I know it’s not as practical as a modern one, but I’m envisioning an old-fashioned cash register, right here,” Bryson said, as he ran his hand over the marble counter. “And can’t you just picture these display cases all lit up and filled with colorful macarons?”
“I don’t understand. Why would you sell macarons at your restaurant?”
“I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s sit down for a minute.”
Black bistro chairs were stacked against the wall, and he retrieved two of them for us. We sat down facing each other, and he said, “I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately, and I’ve finally admitted to myself that I really don’t want to open another restaurant. The thought of it literally makes me nauseous.”
“But that’s your dream.”
“It used to be, but it’s not anymore. A restaurant would take over my entire life. I’d have to spend all my time there, working incredibly long hours, busting my ass trying to achieve someone else’s definition of success. I’d barely see you, and that would make me miserable.”
He took my unbandaged hand and held it between both of his as he continued, “You’re what truly matters, Em. That’s why I want to buy us this place. It would be for both of us.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You want to run a bakery?”
“Actually, no. This is about achieving a work-life balance, so I don’t want us to get up at four a.m. to start baking for the morning rush. What I want is to run a dessert café. We could sell coffee, and macarons, and whatever we felt like baking that day. And of course, you could offer your wonderful custom cakes for birthdays, weddings, and other special occasions.”
“Oh.”
“We wouldn’t try to run it all on our own, either. We’d hire a staff, because like I said, it’s all about finding that balance.” He looked so hopeful as he searched my eyes and asked, “So, what do you think, Embry? Should we buy this place?”