“Exactly!” She claps her hands together, the wonder in her eyes reminding me of a child on Christmas.
Seeing her like this could get really fucking addictive.
She runs her fingers along the exposed brick, making a face at the dust that shows up. “We’ll need to seal this. Otherwise, it’s going to end up in the muffins. That’s got to be some kind of health code violation.”
I scan the ceiling. “Wiring’s a mess, but the joists are solid.”
She nods. “And the HVAC is only two years old! I had the inspector pull the model numbers. We just need to swap the filter.” Georgia eyes me in a way that has my heart skipping a beat, and I can’t tell if it’s just her energy or the fact that I’m so fucking in love with her.
She heads for the counter then, which is a long, battered chunk of wood. “The service counter goes here. Pastry case? Coffee station just behind. And look,” she gestures at the back wall. “That’s where the kitchen will be. Open concept, all glass, so people can see the magic. That’s what I was telling you guys!”
I whistle and then let out a chuckle. “Ambitious. You sure you want everyone to see the chaos of the kitchen?”
She shrugs. “If they don’t like it, they can look at their phones.” She’s smiling, but there’s tension in her jaw, like she expects me to push back.
But I don’t. Instead, I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in for a kiss. “I love your idea,” I reassure her. This is all about her, andthat’swhat I want.
We move through the rest of the space. The back corridor is narrow, barely wide enough for two, but Georgia’s already mapped out shelving for dry storage, a dumbwaiter for floursacks, a walk-in freezer that she wants to buy used off Craigslist—which is totallynothappening. She finally stops at the tiny office, peering up at me while she measures.
“Does this feel too small?” she asks.
I step in, taking in the metal desk and an old safe built into the floor. “Depends. How many people would be in here at one time?”
She grins, giggling at me. “Just one really overqualified manager.” She glances at me, a flash of something warm and sweet in her gaze.
I reach up and brush the hair from her face. “You know it’s going to be great, right?”
“I hope so,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “I want it to be perfect, Brody. Not just for me. Foreveryone.”
“Then it will be.” I kiss her temple. “I know it.”
She gives me a look that makes my heart melt and then slips out of the office. We loop back to the front. The sunlight is thicker now, warm and dappled, pooling on the worn floor. Georgia slides down against the window, using an overturned milk crate as a makeshift bench. She sighs, looking out at the sidewalk.
I drop down beside her, letting my legs stretch out. For a second, we’re both just quiet, listening to the city.
She taps her binder on her knee. “I want to show you something.”
I nod. “Okay. What ya got?”
She cracks it open. The tabs are color-coded, the pages clean and precise. “Business plan, versionsix,” she says, a nervous edge in her voice. “I ran the numbers a hundred times. Even if I’m under on walk-in traffic, we break even in eight months.” She turns to a page. “Here’s the initial capital outlay, the labor projections, the vendor lists. I even factored in spoilage. Emmettsaid that’s the thing that kills most places, so I called a bunch of other bakeries to ask questions.”
She flips to another page. “This is the loan application. I’m going through a local bank. Miles has a friend who can get me a good rate. The down payment’s a little steep, but the money from working on the yacht will be just enough.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to do a loan?”
She avoids my eyes now, hers staying fixed on the paper. “Yeah… I just want to do this the right way. You know, if I bust, I bust on my own. I’m not taking anyone down with me.”
There’s something raw in her voice, a pride edged with fear. I remember the first night on the boat, the way she moved cautiously and nervously. Now, she’s talking about six-figure loans and payroll taxes like it’s her native tongue.
But I get the feeling that the nerves are still there.
I pick up the binder and thumb through it, making a show of it but really just stalling to collect myself. This is a moment I know well, from a lifetime of pitch meetings and boardrooms and billion-dollar deals. But it’s never felt like this before.
“I know you don’t want me to give it to you,” I say, voice soft. “But you know I’d sign the check today. No questions asked.”
Georgia’s eyes flash. For a split second, I think she’s going to snap at me, but instead she just takes a long, measured breath.
“I know,” she says. “But I don’t want that.”
