After Savannah's call, I have a brief window before my lunch meeting. Instead of reviewing emails, I find myself looking at Pittsburgh real estate again. A commercial space, a neighborhood away from Bishop Books, has just been listed. Corner location, plenty of natural light, walking distance to a confident curly-haired woman who's colonized my thoughts.
My finger hovers over the contact button before I stop myself. This is ridiculous. What sane business owner looks at real estate after one incredible night during a snowstorm?
My phone buzzes with a text from Alder Stag.
When are you back in Pittsburgh? Tucker says you're coming for some big meeting?
The Stags. A legitimate business reason to be there regularly. To see her often. But that's assuming she even wants to see me again.
My lunch with the basketball executives passes in a blur. I negotiate contract points on autopilot while my mind keeps drifting to a woman with dark curls and intelligent eyes who makes me desire things I've spent my entire career avoiding.
Back at the hotel that evening, the Pittsburgh real estate listing and Alder Stag’s message pokes at my peace of mind. I call my assistant.
"Tahel, hypothetical question. What's our travel budget looking like this year?"
"Astronomical, as usual. Why?"
"Just curious about the Pittsburgh trips specifically."
I hear her clicking through files. "Brian, you've been to Pittsburgh six times in the last four months. Between flights, hotels, and car rentals, you're looking at about five figures just for those trips. And that's not counting the time lost to travel days."
Five figures. And that's only for recent trips, not counting the years of back-and-forth regarding the Stag family contracts.
"The thing is," Tahel continues, "the Stags are your primary revenue source. Alder's contract renewal, Tucker's endorsement deals, Hawk's coaching transition, Gunnar's new partnerships... you're spending a fortune to service clients who are all in the same city."
She's right. I've been so focused on maintaining my nomadic lifestyle that I haven't realized how much of my business has become established in one place. That’s the only thing settled in my life, in fact.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
I pace the length of the hotel room. "I don't know. Would it make financial sense to have some kind of base there? Satellite office. Something."
"That's... actually not crazy. You could probably cut your travel costs in half and be more responsive to the Stags. They're family-oriented—they'd love having you more accessible."
The practical benefits are obvious. But there's another reason I'm considering this—one that has nothing to do with profit margins and everything to do with a woman who lights fragrant candles and reads stories to children.
"Would you want to relocate?" I ask. "If we did something like this?"
"Are you kidding? I'm from Ohio originally. Pittsburgh's a great city, way cheaper than here, and I'm tired of coordinating your travel schedule from three time zones away."
Her enthusiasm surprises me. "I thought you loved San Diego."
"I love efficient business operations more. And honestly, Brian? You've seemed... different since your trip to Pittsburgh. More distracted, but also more..." She pauses, searching for the word. "Human, I guess."
More human. Because of Noa.
"It's just an idea," I say, backpedaling suddenly. What am I doing? One night with a woman, and I'm ready to restructure my entire life? "Very preliminary."
"Of course. But if you want me to run some numbers—cost analysis, potential savings, staffing requirements—I could put something together."
After we hang up, I light the fourth candle on the mini menorah I've carried in my suitcase for years. The small flames feel inadequate compared to the warm glow of Noa's brass heirloom, but they still center me, still connect me to something beyond myself.
I stare at the candles and try to think practically. Tahel's right about the business case. The Stags generate significant revenue, and they're concentrated in one location. It makes financial sense to establish a presence there.
But every time I try to focus on spreadsheets and profit margins, my mind drifts to Noa's laugh, to the way she looked at me as if I was worth her attention, and to the possibility of seeing her not just once during a snowstorm but regularly. Dating her. Building something real.
The thought terrifies me. It was easier when she felt impossible—a perfect memory from one magical night. But if I'm in Pittsburgh regularly, and there's a chance for something more...
What if she doesn't want that? What if I'm projecting significance onto what was just a holiday fling for her?
