Riley reads the description. “Established gift shop and coffee house in charming mountain town. Loyal customer base. Owner retiring after 20 years. Turn-key operation. Includes inventory, equipment, and building lease. Excellent opportunity for motivated buyer.” She looks at me. “Sloane. This sounds perfect.”
“It’s in Jax’s town.”
“Oh.” She chuckles, not realizing.
“That’s ... I can’t ... that’s too much,” I argue with her.
“Why? It looks perfect.”
“Because …” I’m gesturing wildly now. “Wouldn’t that be stalkerish? Creepy. Buying a business in his town,” I ask her.
“Or,” Riley says calmly, “you’ve found something that excites you for the first time in years. The fact that it happens to be near a guy you have feelings for is just a bonus.”
Is it that simple? I stare at the listing. At the cozy interior. At the town square, visible through the windows. At the life I could build there. My marketing brain is already spinning. I could rebrand it. Update the inventory. Create an online presence. Do local partnerships. Events. Make it a community hub. I could do this. I could actually do this.
“This is a crazy idea,” I whisper.
“The best things usually are.” Riley squeezes my shoulder. “Just think about it. Save the listing. Look at it. Let it simmer.”
I save it. And then I can’t stop looking at it.
That night, I’m still looking at the listing when Maggie stops by.
“Hey,” she says, plopping down on the couch beside me. “How are you holding up?”
“Better. Still ignoring Mom’s calls,” I tell her.
She nods. “She’s called me about fifteen times asking me to talk to you,” she tells me, groaning.
“Are you going to?”
“I’m here.” She nudges me with her shoulder, giving me a smirk. “But I’m not here to talk you into calling her back. I’m here to check on you.”
“I’m fine. Really. Just trying to figure shit out.”
“Aren’t we all.” She sighs, leaning her head back. “I’ve been thinking a lot since Thursday. About family. About expectations. About the life I’m living versus the life I want.”
Oh wow. Really? I always thought Maggie had her shit figured out. She always knew what she wanted to do with her life, she’s had it mapped out since we were teens.
“I hate being a lawyer,” she confesses, which is shocking.
I turn to stare at her. “What?”
“I hate it,” she says simply, so matter-of-factly. “I’ve hated it for years. But I wanted to be the perfect daughter. The one who did everything right. Got the degrees, got the high-paying job, made Mom and Dad proud. And I’ve been miserable the entire time.”
I had no idea. Now I feel horrible for mopping when she’s been feeling like this. “Maggie ...”
“I’m burned out. I hate the hours. I hate the work. I hate the person I must be in that office.” She looks at me. “And watching you walk away from your life on Thursday, it made me realize I need to do the same thing. I need to figure out what I want instead of just living up to everyone else’s expectations.”
This is HUGE. We sit in silence for a moment.
“I found something,” I say quietly. “A business listing. A gift shop and coffee house.” I show her my laptop. “It’s in Jax’s town.”
She looks at the photos, scrolling through slowly. Then her face lights up. “Sloane, this is perfect. This is exactly the kind of thing you should be doing.”
“You think? It’s a crazy idea, no?”
“Why?”
