"No. I was choosing my way. Which happens to include both."
I reach across the space between us. Take his hand.
"For what it's worth, I think that's brave."
"Or stupid."
"Brave and stupid aren't mutually exclusive."
He laughs. The sound rumbles through his chest. I feel it where our hands connect.
"What about you?" he asks. "What made you do this? The bookstore cafe. The whole startup thing."
I sigh. Set down my own food.
"Desperation, mostly. The library cut my hours. Aunt Rene's medical bills kept growing. My ex decided my ambitions were inconvenient and left. I was drowning." I gesture around the cafe. "This was my life raft. The idea that I could build something that mattered. That served my community. That was mine."
"And is it working?"
"Ask me after the grant review."
"I'm asking now."
I look around. Really see it. The space we've created. The customers who've become regulars. The festival display slowly taking shape on the floor.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I think it's working. Scary and precarious and constantly on the verge of collapse. But working."
"Sounds familiar."
"The life or the feeling?"
"Both."
We finish eating in comfortable silence. Then return to the display. By ten, we have something that looks intentional. Professional, even. The green linen creates a backdrop for carefully arranged spice jars. Stone's lanterns add warm light. The timeline flows naturally from traditional to fusion.
"It's good," I say.
"It's better than good." He stands back. Assesses. "It tells the story."
"Your story."
"Our story now."
The words hit different than they should. Promise and terror in equal measure.
"Come on." I start packing up my notes. "Let's get out of here before I start second-guessing everything again."
"Where am I meeting you?"
I write my address on a sticky note. Hand it over.
"Give me thirty minutes to make the place presentable. Then come over."
He takes the note. Folds it carefully. Tucks it in his pocket like it's valuable.
"Thirty minutes."
"Don't be late."
