That bright smile flashed again, like flipping on a light in a dark room. Avery turned back to his tablet, pulling up a new program. He typed, fingers moving quickly over the keys.
“This is rough, but based on standard utility rates in town, and average rents—you know the rents are so much cheaper if you’re a block north of here right? I mean, this is where the tourists hit first in the summer, but if you wanted to manage your costs better—” His words were punctuated by more vigorous typing. “And the cost of an industrial juice press.” He glanced up at Oliver, his freckles disappearing under splotches of red. “I looked it up. Thought about buying one for me, but dude, those things aren’t cheap!”
Oliver was very aware. Finding a model he and Cooper liked at a cost they could afford slowed down their original plans to start the business. They’d argued for a long time over how much to charge to make the investment back—and that was before the first press died in a month. Pulpability’s price point reflected the product he was offering and costs to make it, but anyone who wandered in expecting an alternative to mass-produced iced tea walked away disappointed.
“Do you ever think about making anything else?” Avery asked as he continued to run numbers.
“Like what?”
Avery rummaged in his bag again, pulling out a few crumpled pages. He set them on the counter, smoothing out the wrinkles. “If there was time, I was going to ask you if you thought these would fit in my meal plan. I saw them on Damian Marshall’s Instagram yesterday. He says they’re totally the best thing to make for a quick snack. Maybe you could make something like this and sell them here? It would be cheaper than the juice. Might get people to buy more.”
Was making something from a movie star’s Instagram considered a celebrity endorsement? That was pretty well what he needed to get more people to come into the shop, but Oliver leaned over Avery’s shoulder to read what he’d brought, recipes for what appeared to be vegan baking.
“What’s a flax egg?” he asked.
Avery shrugged and turned his head, the top of his hair brushing against Oliver’s arm. He had to step back so they could see each other at a better angle. “But what do you think? This one is for chocolate chip cookies. People like cookies! And cocoa energy balls. Those sound good, right?”
“I’m not much of a baker.”
“Well, you’re going to have to do something.” Avery’s eyes turned into saucers as soon as he said it, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he said between his fingers. “Sorry. I work with a lot of businesses in town, though. I know the signs when one is struggling and . . .” He gestured around them at the empty chairs.
Oliver eyed him. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five, why?”
That was unexpected. With his uncombed hair and scruffy jeans, he really looked like he was barely out of college.
Oliver read over the recipes again. He pulled out the ones for the energy balls and the cookies. “If I got together numbers for costs of raw materials and give you better information on my fixed overhead, could you run some projections for me?”
Avery clapped his hands, whole body shaking. “Definitely! When do you need them by?”
Oliver laughed. “Let me get the numbers first.”
“Yeah, of course! But, I mean, I could do them tomorrow! You could be running by the weekend! And you can pay me in juice!” Avery lifted his bottle.
“And energy balls?” Oliver fought against the excitement. Wait until Nick heard he was getting into the baking business.
* * *
The week stretched on endlessly. Hayden missed his second period class on Tuesday, so the school decided to pull him out of his classes, and he was now working independently in the guidance counselor’s office instead, the equivalent of solitary confinement. The sentence made him even more miserable to be around in the evenings.
Anya’s birthday was coming, and she and Nick arranged she would take a few days away with girlfriends while Nick spent all weekend at home with Hayden. He was happy to do it for her, even if he wouldn’t get to see Oliver. So who could blame him if he nearly tore the door off its hinges when he showed up at Oliver’s house on Thursday evening?
“Is that you?” Oliver asked, somewhere further inside.
“It’s me.”
“How’s it going?”
“Caramel.” The code word was a bit redundant, now their cards were all on the table, but despite the weekend before, Nick found he still didn’t want to talk too much about Hayden. Maybe they’d get there one day, or maybe Hayden would finally get his shit together, but right now, Nick wanted to be with Oliver.
He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the closet, then pulled off his shirt. Oliver had sent seriously distracting texts the night before on Nick’s break. The pent-up frustration was burning him from the inside out, and he needed relief now. “I want you to take your clothes off if you haven’t already.”
Oliver’s warm laugh came down the hall. “I’m a bit busy right now.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Nick undid his belt as he came into the living room. Oliver was at the far end, in the kitchen, with his back to him. “Whatever you’re doing, it can wait.”
“It really can’t. I don’t want these balls to dry out.”
